LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


BETRAYED AND    BY    YOU   !  "      HE    CRIED    AGAIN. 


-Saracinesca, 


THE     COMPLETE    WORKS     OF 

F.     MARION     CRAWFORD 

In  Thirty-two  Volumes   <&  Authorized  Edition 


SARACINESCA 


BY 

F.  MARION    CRAWFORD 


WITH        FRONTISPIECE 


P.    F.    COLLIER    6-     SON 
NEW  YORK 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


NOTE 


IT  was  at  first  feared  that  the  name  Saracinesca, 
as  it  is  now  printed,  might  be  attached  to  an  unused 
title  in  the  possession  of  a  Roman  house.  The  name 
was  therefore  printed  with  an  additional  consonant — 
"  Sarracinesca  " — in  the  pages  of  '  Black  wood's  Maga 
zine.'  After  careful  inquiry,  the  original  spelling  is 
now  restored. 

SORRENTO,  March  1887. 


SAEACINESCA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  the  year  1865  Eome  was  still  in  a  great  measure  its  old 
self.  It  had  not  then  acquired  that  modern  air  which  is 
now  beginning  to  pervade  it.  The  Corso  had  not  been 
widened  and  whitewashed ;  the  Villa  Aldobrandini  had 
not  been  cut  through  to  make  the  Via  Nazionale;  the 
south  wing  of  the  Palazzo  Colonna  still  looked  upon  a 
narrow  lane  through  which  men  hesitated  to  pass  after 
dark;  the  Tiber's  course  had  not  then  been  corrected 
below  the  Farnesina ;  the  Farnesina  itself  was  but  just 
under  repair;  the  iron  bridge  at  the  Ripetta  was  not 
dreamed  of;  and  the  Prati  di  Castello  were  still,  as  their 
name  implies,  a  series  of  waste  meadows.  At  the  southern 
extremity  of  the  city,  the  space  between  the  fountain  of 
Moses  and  the  newly  erected  railway  station,  running 
past  the  Baths  of  Diocletian,  was  still  an  exercising- 
ground  for  the  French  cavalry.  Even  the  people  in  the 
streets  then  presented  an  appearance  very  different  from 
that  which  is  now  observed  by  the  visitors  and  foreigners 
who  come  to  Kome  in  the  winter.  French  dragoons  and 
hussars,  French  infantry  and  French  officers,  were  every 
where  to  be  seen  in  great  numbers,  mingled  with  a  goodly 
sprinkling  of  the  Papal  Zouaves,  whose  grey  Turco  uni- 


2  SARACINESCA. 

forms  with  bright  red  facings,  red  sashes,  and  short 
yellow  gaiters,  gave  colour  to  any  crowd.  A  fine  corps  of 
men  they  were,  too,  counting  hundreds  of  gentlemen  in 
their  ranks,  and  officered  by  some  of  the  best  blood  in 
France  and  Austria.  In  those  days  also  were  to  be  seen 
the  great  coaches  of  the  cardinals,  with  their  gorgeous 
footmen  and  magnificent  black  horses,  the  huge  red  um 
brellas  lying  upon  the  top,  while  from  the  open  windows 
the  stately  princes  of  the  Church  from  time  to  time  re 
turned  the  salutations  of  the  pedestrians  in  the  street. 
And  often  in  the  afternoon  there  was  heard  the  tramp  of 
horse  as  a  detachment  of  the  noble  guards  trotted  down 
the  Corso  on  their  great  chargers,  escorting  the  holy 
Father  himself,  while  all  who  met  him  dropped  upon 
one  knee  and  uncovered  their  heads  to  receive  the  bene 
diction  of  the  mild-eyed  old  man  with  the  beautiful  fea 
tures,  the  head  of  Church  and  State.  Many  a  time,  too, 
Pius  IX.  would  descend  from  his  coach  and  walk  upon 
the  Pincio,  all  clothed  in  white,  stopping  sometimes  to 
talk  with  those  who  accompanied  him,  or  to  lay  his  gen 
tle  hand  on  the  fair  curls  of  some  little  English  child 
that  paused  from  its  play  in  awe  and  admiration  as  the 
Pope  went  by.  For  he  loved  children  well,  and  most  of 
all,  children  with  golden  hair — angels,  not  Angles,  as 
Gregory  said. 

As  for  the  fashions  of  those  days,  it  is  probable  that 
most  of  us  would  suffer  severe  penalties  rather  than  re 
turn  to  them,  beautiful  as  they  then  appeared  to  us  by 
contrast  with  the  exaggerated  crinoline  and  flower-garden 
bonnet,  which  had  given  way  to  the  somewhat  milder 
form  of  hoop-skirt  madness,  but  had  not  yet  flown  to  the 
opposite  extreme  in  the  invention  of  the  close-fitting 
princesse  garments  of  1868.  But,  to  each  other,  people 
looked  then  as  they  look  now.  Fashion  in  dress,  concern 
ing  which  nine-tenths  of  society  gives  itself  so  much 
trouble,  appears  to  exercise  less  influence  upon  men  and 
women  in  their  relations  towards  each  other  than  does  any 
other  product  of  human  ingenuity.  Provided  every  one  is 


SARACINESCA.  3 

in  the  fashion,  everything  goes  on  in  the  age  of  high  heels 
and  gowns  tied  back  precisely  as  it  did  five-and-twenty 
years  ago,  when  people  wore  flat  shoes,  and  when  gloves 
with  three  buttons  had  not  been  dreamed  of — when  a 
woman  of  most  moderate  dimensions  occupied  three  or 
four  square  yards  of  space  upon  a  ball-room  floor,  and 
men  wore  peg-top  trousers.  Human  beings  since  the 
days  of  Adam  seem  to  have  retired  like  caterpillars  into 
cocoons  of  dress,  expecting  constantly  the  wondrous  hour 
when  they  shall  emerge  from  their  self-woven  prison  in 
the  garb  of  the  angelic  butterfly,  having  entered  into  the 
chrysalis  state  as  mere  human  grubs.  But  though  they 
both  toil  and  spin  at  their  garments,  and  vie  with  Solo 
mon  in  his  glory  to  outshine  the  lily  of  the  field,  the 
humanity  of  the  grub  shows  no  signs  of  developing 
either  in  character  or  appearance  in  the  direction  of 
anything  particularly  angelic. 

It  was  not  the  dress  of  the  period  which  gave  to  the 
streets  of  Rome  their  distinctive  feature.  It  would  be 
hard  to  say,  now  that  so  much  is  changed,  wherein  the 
peculiar  charm  of  the  old-time  city  consisted ;  but  it  was 
there,  nevertheless,  and  made  itself  felt  so  distinctly 
beyond  the  charm  of  any  other  place,  that  the  very  fas 
cination  of  Rome  was  proverbial.  Perhaps  no  spot  in 
Europe  has  ever  possessed  such  an  attractive  individu 
ality.  In  those  days  there  were  many  foreigners,  too,  as 
there  are  to-day,  both  residents  and  visitors ;  but  they 
seemed  to  belong  to  a  different  class  of  humanity.  They 
seemed  less  inharmonious  to  their  surroundings  then  than 
now,  less  offensive  to  the  general  air  of  antiquity.  Prob 
ably  they  were  more  in  earnest ;  they  came  to  Rome  with 
the  intention  of  liking  the  place,  rather  than  of  abusing 
the  cookery  in  the  hotels.  They  came  with  a  certain 
knowledge  of  the  history,  the  literature,  and  the  man 
ners  of  the  ancients,  derived  from  an  education  which  in 
those  days  taught  more  through  the  classics  and  less 
through  handy  text-books  and  shallow  treatises  concern 
ing  the  Renaissance ;  they  came  with  preconceived  no- 


4  SABACINESCA. 

tions  which  were  often  strongly  dashed  with  old-fash 
ioned  prejudice,  but  which  did  not  lack  originality :  they 
come  now  in  the  smattering  mood,  imbued  with  no  genu 
ine  beliefs,  but  covered  with  exceeding  thick  varnish.  Old 
gentlemen  then  visited  the  sights  in  the  morning,  and 
quoted  Horace  to  each  other,  and  in  the  evening  endeav 
oured  by  associating  with  Romans  to  understand  some 
thing  of  Rome ;  young  gentlemen  now  spend  one  or  two 
mornings  in  finding  fault  with  the  architecture  of  Bra- 
mante,  and  "in  the  evening,"  like  David's  enemies, 
"  they  grin  like  a  dog  and  run  about  the  city : "  young 
women  were  content  to  find  much  beauty  in  the  galleries 
and  in  the  museums,  and  were  simple  enough  to  admire 
what  they  liked ;  young  ladies  of  the  present  day  can 
find  nothing  to  admire  except  their  own  perspicacity  in 
detecting  faults  in  Raphael's  drawing  or  Michael  Angelo's 
colouring.  This  is  the  age  of  incompetent  criticism  in 
matters  artistic,  and  no  one  is  too  ignorant  to  volunteer  an 
opinion.  It  is  sufficient  to  have  visited  half-a-dozen  Ital 
ian  towns,  and  to  have  read  a  few  pages  of  fashionable 
aesthetic  literature — no  other  education  is  needed  to  fit 
the  intelligent  young  critic  for  his  easy  task.  The  art  of 
paradox  can  be  learned  in  five  minutes,  and  practised  by 
any  child ;  it  consists  chiefly  in  taking  two  expressions 
of  opinion  from  different  authors,  halving  them,  and  unit 
ing  the  first  half  of  the  one  with  the  second  half  of  the 
other.  The  result  is  invariably  startling,  and  generally 
incomprehensible.  When  a  young  society  critic  knows 
how  to  be  startling  and  incomprehensible,  his  reputation 
is  soon  made,  for  people  readily  believe  that  what  they 
cannot  understand  is  profound,  and  anything  which  as 
tonishes  is  agreeable  to  a  taste  deadened  by  a  surfeit  of 
spices.  But  in  1865  the  taste  of  Europe  was  in  a  very 
different  state.  The  Second  Empire  was  in  its  glory.  M. 
Emile  Zola  had  not  written  his  '  Assommoir.'  Count  Bis 
marck  had  only  just  brought  to  a  successful  termination 
the  first  part  of  his  trimachy ;  Sadowa  and  Sedan  were 
yet  unfought.  Garibaldi  had  won  Naples,  and  Cavour 


SAKACINESCA.  5 

had  said,  "  If  we  did  for  ourselves  what  we  are  doing  for 
Italy,  we  should  be  great  scoundrels  ; "  but  Garibaldi  had 
not  yet  failed  at  Mentana,  nor  had  Austria  ceded  Venice. 
Cardinal  Antonelli  had  yet  ten  years  of  life  before  him 
in  which  to  maintain  his  gallant  struggle  for  the  remnant 
of  the  temporal  power;  Pius  IX.  was  to  live  thirteen 
years  longer,  just  long  enough  to  outlive  by  one  month 
the  "  honest  king,"  Victor  Emmanuel.  Antonelli's  influ 
ence  pervaded  Borne,  and  to  a  great  extent  all  the  Catho 
lic  Courts  of  Europe  ;  yet  he  was  far  from  popular  with 
the  Romans.  The  Jesuits,  however,  were  even  less 
popular  than  he,  and  certainly  received  a  much  larger 
share  of  abuse.  For  the  Romans  love  faction  more  than 
party,  and  understand  it  better ;  so  that  popular  opinion 
is  too  frequently  represented  by  a  transitory  frenzy,  vio 
lent  and  pestilent  while  it  lasts,  utterly  insignificant 
when  it  has  spent  its  fury. 

But  Kome  in  those  days  was  peopled  solely  by  Romans, 
whereas  now  a  large  proportion  of  the  population  consists 
of  Italians  from  the  north  and  south,  who  have  been 
attracted  to  the  capital  by  many  interests — races  as  differ 
ent  from  its  former  citizens  as  Germans  or  Spaniards,  and 
unfortunately  not  disposed  to  show  overmuch  good-fellow 
ship  or  loving-kindness  to  the  original  inhabitants.  The 
Roman  is  a  grumbler  by  nature,  but  he  is  also  a  "  peace- 
at-any-price  "  man.  Politicians  and  revolutionary  agents 
have  more  than  once  been  deceived  by  these  traits,  sup 
posing  that  because  the  Roman  grumbled  he  really  desired 
change,  but  realising  too  late,  when  the  change  has  been 
begun,  that  that  same  Roman  is  but  a  lukewarm  partisan. 
The  Papal  Government  repressed  grumbling  as  a  nuisance, 
and  the  people  consequently  took  a  delight  in  annoying 
the  authorities  by  grumbling  in  secret  places  and  calling 
themselves  conspirators.  The  harmless  whispering  of 
petty  discontent  was  mistaken  by  the  Italian  party  for  the 
low  thunder  of  a  smothered  volcano ;  but,  the  change  being 
brought  about,  the  Italians  find  to  their  disgust  that  the 
Roman  meant  nothing  by  his  murmurings,  and  that  he 


6  SAKACINESCA. 

now  not  only  still  grumbles  at  everything,  but  takes  the 
trouble  to  fight  the  Government  at  every  point  which  con 
cerns  the  internal  management  of  the  city.  In  the  days 
before  the  change,  a  paternal  Government  directed  the 
affairs  of  the  little  State,  and  thought  it  best  to  remove 
all  possibility  of  strife  by  giving  the  grumblers  no  voice  in 
public  or  economic  matters.  The  grumblers  made  a  griev 
ance  of  this ;  and  then,  as  soon  as  the  grievance  had  been 
redressed,  they  redoubled  their  complaints  and  retrenched 
themselves  within  the  infallibility  of  inaction,  on  the  prin 
ciple  that  men  who  persist  in  doing  nothing  cannot  possibly 
do  wrong. 

Those  were  the  days,  too,  of  the  old  school  of  artists — 
men  who,  if  their  powers  of  creation  were  not  always  pro 
portioned  to  their  ambition  for  excellence,  were  as  superior 
to  their  more  recent  successors  in  their  pure  conceptions 
of  what  art  should  be  as  Apelles  was  to  the  Pompeian 
wall-painters,  and  as  the  Pompeians  were  to  modern  house- 
decorators.  The  age  of  Overbeck  and  the  last  religious 
painters  was  almost  past,  but  the  age  of  fashionable  artis 
tic  debauchery  had  hardly  begun.  Water-colour  was  in 
its  infancy  j  wood-engraving  was  hardly  yet  a  great  pro 
fession  ;  but  the  "  Dirty  Boy  "  had  not  yet  taken  a  prize 
at  Paris,  nor  had  indecency  become  a  fine  art.  The  French 
school  had  not  demonstrated  the  startling  distinction  be 
tween  the  nude  and  the  naked,  nor  had  the  English  school 
dreamed  nightmares  of  anatomical  distortion. 

Darwin's  theories  had  been  propagated,  but  had  not  yet 
been  passed  into  law,  and  very  few  Romans  had  heard  of 
them ;  still  less  had  any  one  been  found  to  assert  that  the 
real  truth  of  these  theories  would  be  soon  demonstrated 
retrogressively  by  the  rapid  degeneration  of  men  into  apes, 
while  apes  would  hereafter  have  cause  to  congratulate 
themselves  upon  not  having  developed  into  men.  Many 
theories  also  were  then  enjoying  vast  popularity  which 
have  since  fallen  low  in  the  popular  estimation.  Prussia 
was  still,  in  theory,  a  Power  of  the  second  class,  and  the 
empire  of  Louis  Napoleon  was  supposed  to  possess  ele- 


SARACINESCA.  7 

ments  of  stability.  The  great  civil  war  in  the  United 
States  had  just  been  fought,  and  people  still  doubted 
whether  the  republic  would  hold  together.  It  is  hard  to 
recall  the  common  beliefs  of  those  times.  A  great  part 
of  the  political  creed  of  twenty  years  ago  seems  now  a 
mass  of  idiotic  superstition,  in  no  wise  preferable,  as 
Macaulay  would  have  said,  to  the  Egyptian  worship  of 
cats  and  onions.  Nevertheless,  then,  as  now,  men  met 
together  secretly  in  cellars  and  dens,  as  well  as  in  draw 
ing-rooms  and  clubs,  and  whispered  together,  and  said 
their  theories  were  worth  something,  and  ought  to  be  tried. 
The  word  republic  possessed  then,  as  now,  a  delicious 
attraction  for  people  who  had  grievances ;  and  although, 
after  the  conquest  of  Naples,  Garibaldi  had  made  a  sort  of 
public  abjuration  of  republican  principles,  so  far  as  Italy 
was  concerned,  the  plotters  of  all  classes  persisted  in  coup 
ling  his  name  with  the  idea  of  a  commonwealth  erected  on 
the  plan  of  "sois  rnon  frere  ou  je  te  tue."  Profound 
silence  on  the  part  of  Governments,  and  a  still  more 
guarded  secrecy  on  the  part  of  conspiring  bodies,  were 
practised  as  the  very  first  principle  of  all  political  opera 
tions.  No  copyist,  at  half-a-crown  an  hour,  had  yet  be 
trayed  the  English  Foreign  Office  ;  and  it  had  not  dawned 
upon  the  clouded  intellects  of  European  statesmen  that 
deliberate  national  perjury,  accompanied  by  public  meet 
ings  of  sovereigns,  and  much  blare  of  many  trumpets, 
could  be  practised  with  such  triumphant  success  as  events 
have  since  shown.  In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1865 
people  crossed  the  Alps  in  carriages ;  the  Suez  Canal  had 
not  been  opened ;  the  first  Atlantic  cable  was  not  laid ; 
German  unity  had  not  been  invented ;  Pius  IX.  reigned 
in  the  Pontifical  States ;  Louis  Napoleon  was  the  idol  of 
the  French ;  President  Lincoln  had  not  been  murdered, — 
is  anything  needed  to  widen  the  gulf  which  separates 
those  times  from  these  ?  The  difference  between  the 
States  of  the  world  in  1865  and  in  1885  is  nearly  as 
great  as  that  which  divided  the  Europe  of  1789  from  the 
Europe  of  1814. 


8  SAEACINESCA. 

But  my  business  is  with  Rome,  and  not  with  Europe 
at  large.  I  intend  to  tell  the  story  of  certain  persons,  of 
their  good  and  bad  f  ortune,  their  adventures,  and  the  com 
plications  in  which  they  found  themselves  placed  during  a 
period  of  about  twenty  years.  The  people  of  whom  I  tell 
this  story  are  chiefly  patricians ;  and  in  the  first  part  of 
their  history  they  have  very  little  to  do  with  any  but  their 
own  class — a  class  peculiar  and  almost  unique  in  the  world. 

Speaking  broadly,  there  is  no  one  at  once  so  thoroughly 
Koman  and  so  thoroughly  non-Roman  as  the  Bornan  noble. 
This  is  no  paradox,  no  play  on  words.  Roman  nobles  are 
Eoman  by  education  and  tradition  j  by  blood  they  are 
almost  cosmopolitans.  The  practice  of  intermarrying  with 
the  great  families  of  the  rest  of  Europe  is  so  general  as 
to  be  almost  a  rule.  One  Roman  prince  is  an  English 
peer ;  most  of  the  Roman  princes  are  grandees  of  Spain ; 
many  of  them  have  married  daughters  of  great  French 
houses,  of  reigning  German  princes,  of  ex-kings  and  ex- 
queens.  In  one  princely  house  alone  are  found  the  fol 
lowing  combinations :  There  are  three  brothers :  the  eldest 
married  first  the  daughter  of  a  great  English  peer,  and 
secondly  the  daughter  of  an  even  greater  peer  of  France ; 
the  second  brother  married  first  a  German  "  serene  high 
ness,"  and  secondly  the  daughter  of  a  great  Hungarian 
noble ;  the  third  brother  married  the  daughter  of  a  French 
house  of  royal  Stuart  descent.  This  is  no  solitary  instance. 
A  score  of  families  might  be  cited  who,  by  constant  foreign 
marriages,  have  almost  eliminated  from  their  blood  the 
original  Italian  element ;  and  this  great  intermixture  of 
races  may  account  for  the  strangely  un-Italian  types  that 
are  found  among  them,  for  the  undying  vitality  which 
seems  to  animate  races  already  a  thousand  years  old,  and 
above  all,  for  a  very  remarkable  cosmopolitanism  which 
pervades  Roman  society.  A  set  of  people  whose  near  re 
lations  are  socially  prominent  in  every  capital  of  Europe, 
could  hardly  be  expected  to  have  anything  provincial  about 
them  in  appearance  or  manners  ;  still  less  can  they  be  con 
sidered  to  be  types  of  their  own  nation.  And  yet  such  is 


SABACmESCA.  9 

the  force  of  tradition,  of  the  patriarchal  family  life,  of  the 
early  surroundings  in  which  are  placed  these  children  of 
a  mixed  race,  that  they  acquire  from  their  earliest  years 
the  unmistakable  outward  manner  of  Romans,  the  broad 
Eoman  speech,  and  a  sort  of  clannish  and  federative  spirit, 
which  has  not  its  like  in  the  same  class  anywhere  in 
Europe.  They  grow  up  together,  go  to  school  together,  go 
together  into  the  world,  and  together  discuss  all  the  social 
affairs  of  their  native  city.  Not  a  house  is  bought  or  sold, 
not  a  hundred  francs  won  at  e'carte',  not  a  marriage  con 
tract  made,  without  being  duly  considered  and  commented 
upon  by  the  whole  of  society.  And  yet,  though  there  is 
much  gossip,  there  is  little  scandal ;  there  was  even  less 
twenty  years  ago  than  there  is  now — not,  perhaps,  be 
cause  the  increment  of  people  attracted  to  the  new  capi 
tal  have  had  any  bad  influence,  but  simply  because  the 
city  has  grown  much  larger,  and  in  some  respects  has  out 
grown  a  certain  simplicity  of  manners  it  once  possessed, 
and  which  was  its  chief  safeguard.  For,  in  spite  of  a 
vast  number  of  writers  of  all  nations  who  have  at 
tempted  to  describe  Italian  life,  and  who,  from  an  imper 
fect  acquaintance  with  the  people,  have  fallen  into  the 
error  of  supposing  them  to  live  perpetually  in  a  highly 
complicated  state  of  mind,  the  foundation  of  the  Italian 
character  is  simple — far  more  so  than  that  of  his  heredi 
tary  antagonist,  the  northern  European.  It  is  enough  to 
notice  that  the  Italian  habitually  expresses  what  he  feels, 
while  it  is  the  chief  pride  of  Northern  men  that  what 
ever  they  may  feel  they  express  nothing.  The  chief  ob 
ject  of  most  Italians  is  to  make  life  agreeable ;  the  chief 
object  of  the  Teutonic  races  is  to  make  it  profitable. 
Hence  the  Italian  excels  in  the  art  of  pleasing,  and  in 
pleasing  by  means  of  the  arts ;  whereas  the  Northern 
man  is  pre-eminent  in  the  faculty  of  producing  wealth 
under  any  circumstances,  and  when  he  has  amassed 
enough  possessions  to  think  of  enjoying  his  leisure,  has 
generally  been  under  the  necessity  of  employing  South 
ern  art  as  a  means  to  that  end.  But  Southern  simplicity 


10  SABACINESCA. 

carried  to  its  ultimate  expression  leads  not  uncommonly 
to  startling  results ;  for  it  is  not  generally  a  satisfaction 
to  an  Italian  to  be  paid  a  sum  of  money  as  damages  for 
an  injury  done.  When  his  enemy  has  harmed  him,  he 
desires  the  simple  retribution  afforded  by  putting  his 
enemy  to  death,  and  he  frequently  exacts  it  by  any 
means  that  he  finds  ready  to  his  hand.  Being  simple,  he 
reflects  little,  and  often  acts  with  violence.  The  North 
ern  mind,  capable  of  vast  intricacy  of  thought,  seeks  to 
combine  revenge  of  injury  with  personal  profit,  and  in  a 
spirit  of  cold,  far-sighted  calculation,  reckons  up  the  ad 
vantages  to  be  got  by  sacrificing  an  innate  desire  for 
blood  to  a  civilised  greed  of  money. 

Dr  Johnson  would  have  liked  the  Romans — for  in  gen 
eral  they  are  good  lovers  and  good  haters,  whatever  faults 
they  may  have.  The  patriarchal  system,  which  was  all 
but  universal  twenty  years  ago,  and  is  only  now  beginning 
to  yield  to  more  modern  institutions  of  life,  tends  to  foster 
the  passions  of  love  and  hate.  Where  father  and  mother 
sit  at  the  head  and  foot  of  the  table,  their  sons  with  their 
wives  and  their  children  each  in  his  or  her  place,  often  to 
the  number  of  twenty  souls — all  living  under  one  roof,  one 
name,  and  one  bond  of  family  unity — there  is  likely  to  be 
a  great  similarity  of  feeling  upon  all  questions  of  family 
pride,  especially  among  people  who  discuss  everything  with 
vehemence,  from  European  politics  to  the  family  cook. 
They  may  bicker  and  squabble  among  themselves, — and 
they  frequently  do, — but  in  their  outward  relations  with 
the  world  they  act  as  one  individual,  and  the  enemy  of  one 
is  the  enemy  of  all ;  for  the  pride  of  race  and  name  is  very 
great.  There  is  a  family  in  Rome  who,  since  the  memory 
of  man,  have  not  failed  to  dine  together  twice  every  week, 
and  there  are  now  more  than  thirty  persons  who  take  their 
places  at  the  patriarchal  board.  No  excuse  can  be  pleaded 
for  absence,  and  no  one  would  think  of  violating  the  rule. 
Whether  such  a  mode  of  life  is  good  or  not  is  a  matter  of 
opinion ;  it  is,  at  all  events,  a  fact,  and  one  not  generally 
understood  or  even  known  by  persons  who  make  studies 


SAEACDTESCA.  11 

of  Italian  character.  Free  and  constant  discussion  of  all 
manner  of  topics  should  certainly  tend  to  widen  the  intel 
ligence  ;  "but,  on  the  other  hand,  where  the  dialecticians 
are  all  of  one  race,  and  name,  and  blood,  the  practice 
may  often  merely  lead  to  an  undue  development  of  pre 
judice.  In  Eome,  particularly,  where  so  many  families 
take  a  distinct  character  from  the  influence  of  a  foreign 
mother,  the  opinions  of  a  house  are  associated  with  its 
mere  name.  Casa  Borghese  thinks  so  and  so,  Casa  Colonna 
has  diametrically  opposite  views,  while  Casa  Altieri  may 
differ  wholly  from  both;  and  in  connection  with  most 
subjects  the  mere  names  Borghese,  Altieri,  Colonna  are 
associated  in  the  minds  of  Romans  of  all  classes  with 
distinct  sets  of  principles  and  ideas,  with  distinct  types 
of  character,  and  with  distinctly  different  outward  and 
visible  signs  of  race.  Some  of  these  conditions  exist 
among  the  nobility  of  other  countries,  but  not,  I  believe, 
to  the  same  extent.  In  Germany,  the  aristocratic  body 
takes  a  certain  uniform  hue,  so  to  speak,  from  the  army, 
in  which  it  plays  so  important  a  part,  and  the  patriarchal 
system  is  broken  up  by  the  long  absences  from  the 
ancestral  home  of  the  soldier-sons.  In  France,  the  main 
divisions  of  republicans,  monarchists,  and  imperialists 
have  absorbed  and  unified  the  ideas  and  principles  of 
large  bodies  of  families  into  bodies  politic.  In  England, 
the  practice  of  allowing  younger  sons  to  shift  for  them 
selves,  and  the  division  of  the  whole  aristocracy  into 
two  main  political  parties,  destroy  the  patriarchal  spirit; 
while  it  must  also  be  remembered,  that  at  a  period  when 
in  Italy  the  hand  of  every  house  was  against  its  neigh 
bour,  and  the  struggles  of  Guelph  and  Ghibelline  were 
but  an  excuse  for  the  prosecution  of  private  feuds,  Eng 
land  was  engaged  in  great  wars  which  enlisted  vast 
bodies  of  men  under  a  common  standard  for  a  common 
principle.  Whether  the  principle  involved  chanced  to 
be  that  of  English  domination  in  France,  or  whether 
men  flocked  to  the  standards  of  the  White  Eose  of  York 
or  the  Bed  Rose  of  Lancaster,  was  of  little  importance ; 


12  SAKACINESCA. 

the  result  was  the  same, — the  tendency  of  powerful 
families  to  maintain  internecine  traditional  feuds  was 
stamped  out,  or  rather  was  absorbed  in  the  maintenance 
of  the  perpetual  feud  between  the  great  principles  of 
Tory  and  Whig — of  the  party  for  the  absolute  monarch, 
and  the  party  for  the  freedom  of  the  people. 

Be  the  causes  what  they  may,  the  Roman  nobility  has 
many  characteristics  peculiar  to  it  and  to  no  other  aris 
tocracy.  It  is  cosmopolitan  by  its  foreign  marriages,  re 
newed  in  every  generation ;  it  is  patriarchal  and  feudal 
by  its  own  unbroken  traditions  of  family  life ;  and  it  is 
only  essentially  Roman  by  its  speech  and  social  customs. 
It  has  undergone  great  vicissitudes  during  twenty  years  ; 
but  most  of  these  features  remain  in  spite  of  new  and 
larger  parties,  new  and  bitter  political  hatreds,  new  ideas 
of  domestic  life,  and  new  fashions  in  dress  and  cookery. 

In  considering  an  account  of  the  life  of  Giovanni  Sara- 
cinesca  from  the  time  when,  in  1865,  he  was  thirty  years 
of  age,  down  to  the  present  day,  it  is  therefore  just  that  he 
should  be  judged  with  a  knowledge  of  some  of  these  pecu 
liarities  of  his  class.  He  is  not  a  Roman  of  the  people 
like  Giovanni  Cardegna,  the  great  tenor,  and  few  of  his 
ideas  have  any  connection  with  those  of  the  singer  ;  but 
he  has,  in  common  with  him,  that  singular  simplicity  of 
character  which  he  derives  from  his  Roman  descent  upon 
the  male  side,  and  in  which  will  be  found  the  key  to  many 
of  his  actions  both  good  and  bad — a  simplicity  which  loves 
peace,  but  cannot  always  refrain  from  sudden  violence, 
which  loves  and  hates  strongly  and  to  some  purpose. 


CHAPTER   II. 

The  hour  was  six  o'clock,  and  the  rooms  of  the  Embassy 
were  as  full  as  they  were  likely  to  be  that  day.  There 
would  doubtless  have  been  more  people  had  the  weather 


SARACESTESCA.  13 

been  fine ;  but  it  was  raining  heavily,  and  below,  in  the 
vast  court  that  formed  the  centre  of  the  palace,  the  lamps 
of  fifty  carriages  gleamed  through  the  water  and  the  dark 
ness,  and  the  coachmen,  of  all  dimensions  and  characters, 
sat  beneath  their  huge  umbrellas  and  growled  to  each 
other,  envying  the  lot  of  the  footmen  who  were  congre 
gated  in  the  ante-chamber  up-stairs  around  the  great 
bronze  braziers.  But  in  the  reception-rooms  there  was 
much  light  and  warmth;  there  were  bright  fires  and 
softly  shaded  lamps  ;  velvet  -  footed  servants  stealing 
softly  among  the  guests,  with  immense  burdens  of  tea 
and  cake ;  men  of  more  or  less  celebrity  chatting  about 
politics  in  corners  ;  women  of  more  or  less  beauty  gossip 
ing  over  their  tea,  or  flirting,  or  wishing  they  had  some 
body  to  flirt  with  j  people  of  many  nations  and  ideas,  with 
a  goodly  leaven  of  Romans.  They  all  seemed  endeavour 
ing  to  get  away  from  the  men  and  women  of  their  own 
nationality,  in  order  to  amuse  themselves  with  the  dif 
ficulties  of  conversation  in  languages  not  their  own. 
Whether  they  amused  themselves  or  not  is  of  small  im 
portance  ;  but  as  they  were  all  willing  to  find  themselves 
together  twice  a-day  for  the  five  months  of  the  Eoman 
season — from  the  first  improvised  dance  before  Christ 
mas,  to  the  last  set  ball  in  the  warm  April  weather  after 
Easter — it  may  be  argued  that  they  did  not*  dislike  each 
other's  society.  In  case  the  afternoon  should  seem  dull, 
his  Excellency  had  engaged  the  services  of  Signer  Stril- 
lone,  the  singer.  Erom  time  to  time  he  struck  a  few 
chords  upon  the  grand  piano,  and  gave  forth  a  song  of  his 
own  composition  in  loud  and  passionate  tones,  varied  with 
very  sudden  effects  of  extreme  pianissimo,  which  occa 
sionally  surprised  some  one  who  was  trying  to  make  his 
conversation  heard  above  the  music. 

There  was  a  little  knot  of  people  standing  about  the 
door  of  the  great  drawing-room.  Some  of  them  were 
watching  their  opportunity  to  slip  away  unperceived; 
others  had  just  arrived,  and  were  making  a  survey  of  the 
scene  to  ascertain  the  exact  position  of  their  Excellencies,, 


14  SAKACINESCA. 

and  of  the  persons  they  most  desired  to  avoid,  before  com 
ing  forward.  Suddenly,  just  as  Signer  Strillone  had 
reached  a  high  note  and  was  preparing  to  bellow  upon  it 
before  letting  his  voice  die  away  to  a  pathetic  falsetto,  the 
crowd  at  the  door  parted  a  little.  A  lady  entered  the 
room  alone,  and  stood  out  before  the  rest,  pausing  till 
the  singer  should  have  passed  the  climax  of  his  song,  be 
fore  she  proceeded  upon  her  way.  She  was  a  very  striking 
woman  ;  every  one  knew  who  she  was,  every  one  looked 
towards  her,  and  the  little  murmur  that  went  round  the 
room  was  due  to  her  entrance  rather  than  to  Signer 
Strillone's  high  note. 

The  Duchessa  d'Astrardente  stood  still,  and  quietly 
looked  about  her.  A  minister,  two  secretaries,  and  three 
or  four  princes  sprang  towards  her,  each  with  a  chair  in 
hand ;  but  she  declined  each  offer,  nodding  to  one,  thank 
ing  another  by  name,  and  exchanging  a  few  words  with  a 
third.  She  would  not  sit  down ;  she  had  not  yet  spoken 
to  the  ambassadress. 

Two  men  followed  her  closely  as  she  crossed  the  room 
when  the  song  was  finished.  One  was  a  fair  man  of  five- 
and-thirty,  rather  stout,  and  elaborately  dressed.  He  trod 
softly  and  carried  his  hat  behind  him,  while  he  leaned  a 
little  forward  in  his  walk.  There  was  something  unpleas 
ant  about  his  face,  caused  perhaps  by  his  pale  complexion 
and  almost  colourless  moustache ;  his  blue  eyes  were  small 
and  near  together,  and  had  a  watery,  undecided  look ;  his 
thin  fair  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle  over  his  low  fore 
head  ;  there  was  a  scornful  look  about  his  mouth,  though 
half  concealed  by  the  moustache ;  and  his  chin  retreated 
rather  abruptly  from  his  lower  lip.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
was  dressed  with  extreme  care,  and  his  manner  showed  no 
small  confidence  in  himself  as  he  pushed  forwards,  keep 
ing  as  close  as  he  could  to  the  Duchessa.  He  had  the  air 
of  being  thoroughly  at  home  in  his  surroundings. 

Ugo  del  Eerice  was  indeed  rarely  disconcerted,  and  his 
self-reliance  was  most  probably  one  chief  cause  of  his  suc 
cess.  He  was  a  man  who  performed  the  daily  miracle  of 


SAKACINESCA.  15 

creating  everything  for  himself  out  of  nothing.  His  father 
had  barely  been  considered  a  member  of  the  lower  nobil 
ity,  although  he  always  called  himself  "dei  conti  del 
Ferice  " — of  the  family  of  the  counts  of  his  name ;  but 
where  or  when  the  Conti  del  Ferice  had  lived,  was  a  ques 
tion  he  never  was  able  to  answer  satisfactorily.  He  had 
made  a  little  money,  and  had  squandered  most  of  it  be 
fore  he  died,  leaving  the  small  remainder  to  his  only  son, 
who  had  spent  every  scudo  of  it  in  the  first  year.  But  to 
make  up  for  the  exiguity  of  his  financial  resources,  Ugo 
had  from  his  youth  obtained  social  success.  He  had  be 
gun  life  by  boldly  calling  himself  "  II  conte  del  Ferice." 
No  one  had  ever  thought  it  worth  while  to  dispute  him 
the  title ;  and  as  he  had  hitherto  not  succeeded  in  confer 
ring  it  upon  any  dowered  damsel,  the  question  of  his 
countship  was  left  unchallenged.  He  had  made  many  ac 
quaintances  in  the  college  where  he  had  been  educated ; 
for  his  father  had  paid  for  his  schooling  in  the  Collegio 
dei  Nobili,  and  that  in  itself  was  a  passport — for  as  the 
lad  grew  to  the  young  man,  he  zealously  cultivated  the 
society  of  his  old  school-fellows,  and  by  wisely  avoiding 
all  other  company,  acquired  a  right  to  be  considered  one 
of  themselves.  He  was  very  civil  and  obliging  in  his 
youth,  and  had  in  that  way  acquired  a  certain  reputation 
for  being  indispensable,  which  had  stood  him  in  good  stead. 
No  one  asked  whether  he  had  paid  his  tailor's  bill ;  or 
whether  upon  certain  conditions,  his  tailor  supplied  him 
with  raiment  gratis.  He  was  always  elaborately  dressed, 
he  was  always  ready  to  take  a  hand  at  cards,  and  he  was 
always  invited  to  every  party  in  the  season.  He  had 
cultivated  with  success  the  science  of  amusing,  and 
people  asked  him  to  dinner  in  the  winter,  and  to  their 
country  houses  in  the  summer.  He  had  been  seen  in 
Paris,  and  was  often  seen  at  Monte  Carlo ;  but  his  real 
home  and  hunting-ground  was  Kome,  where  he  knew 
every  one  and  every  one  knew  him.  He  had  made  one 
or  two  fruitless  attempts  to  marry  young  women  of 
American  extraction  and  large  fortune ;  he  had  not  sue- 


16  SABACINESCA. 

ceeded  in  satisfying  the  paternal  mind  in  regard  to 
guarantees,  and  had  consequently  been  worsted  in  his 
endeavours.  Last  summer,  however,  it  appeared  that  he 
had  been  favoured  with  an  increase  of  fortune.  He  gave 
out  that  an  old  uncle  of  his,  who  had  settled  in  the  south 
of  Italy,  had  died,  leaving  him  a  modest  competence; 
and  while  assuming  a  narrow  band  of  cr&pe  upon  his  hat, 
he  had  adopted  also  a  somewhat  more  luxurious  mode  of 
living.  Instead  of  going  about  on  foot  or  in  cabs,  he 
kept  a  very  small  coupe,  with  a  very  small  horse  and  a 
diminutive  coachman :  the  whole  turn-out  was  very  quiet 
in  appearance,  but  very  serviceable  withal.  Ugo  some 
times  wore  too  much  jewellery ;  but  his  bad  taste,  if  so 
it  could  be  called,  did  not  extend  to  the  modest  equipage. 
People  accepted  the  story  of  the  deceased  uncle,  and  con 
gratulated  Ugo,  whose  pale  face  assumed  on  such  occa 
sions  a  somewhat  deprecating  smile.  "A  few  scudi," 
he  would  answer — "  a  very  small  competence  ;  but  what 
would  you  have  ?  I  need  so  little — it  is  enough  for  me." 
Nevertheless  people  who  knew  him  well  warned  him  that 
he  was  growing  stout. 

The  other  man  who  followed  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente 
across  the  drawing-room  was  of  a  different  type.  Don 
Giovanni  Saracinesca  was  neither  very  tall  nor  remark 
ably  handsome,  though  in  the  matter  of  his  beauty  opinion 
varied  greatly.  He  was  very  dark — almost  as  dark  for  a 
man  as  the  Duchessa  was  for  a  woman.  He  was  strongly 
built,  but  very  lean,  and  his  features  stood  out  in  bold  and 
sharp  relief  from  the  setting  of  his  short  black  hair  and 
pointed  beard.  His  nose  was  perhaps  a  little  large  for  his 
face,  and  the  unusual  brilliancy  of  his  eyes  gave  him  an 
expression  of  restless  energy ;  there  was  something  noble 
in  the  shaping  of  his  high  square  forehead  and  in  the  turn 
of  his  sinewy  throat.  His  hands  were  broad  and  brown, 
but  nervous  and  well  knit,  with  straight  long  fingers  and 
squarely  cut  nails.  Many  women  said  Don  Giovanni  was 
the  handsomest  man  in  Rome ;  others  said  he  was  too 
dark  or  too  thin,  and  that  his  face  was  hard  and  his 


SARACINESCA.  17 

features  ugly.  There  was  a  great  difference  of  opinion 
in  regard  to  his  appearance.  Don  Giovanni  was  not 
married,  but  there  were  few  marriageable  women  in  Rome 
who  would  not  have  been  overjoyed  to  become  his  wife. 
But  hitherto  he  had  hesitated— or,  to  speak  more  accu 
rately,  he  had  not  hesitated  at  all  in  his  celibacy.  His 
conduct  in  refusing  to  marry  had  elicited  much  criticism, 
little  of  which  had  reached  his  ears.  He  cared  not  much 
for  what  his  friends  said  to  him,  and  not  at  all  for  the 
opinion  of  the  world  at  large,  in  consequence  of  which 
state  of  mind  people  often  said  he  was  selfish — a  view 
taken  extensively  by  elderly  princesses  with  unmarried 
daughters,  and  even  by  Don  Giovanni's  father  and  only 
near  relation,  the  old  Prince  Saracinesca,  who  earnestly 
desired  to  see  his  name  perpetuated.  Indeed  Giovanni 
would  have  made  a  good  husband,  for  he  was  honest  and 
constant  by  nature,  courteous  by  disposition,  and  con 
siderate  by  habit  and  experience.  His  reputation  for 
wildness  rested  rather  upon  his  taste  for  dangerous 
amusements  than  upon  such  scandalous  adventures  as 
made  up  the  lives  of  many  of  his  contemporaries.  But 
to  all  matrimonial  proposals  he  answered  that  he  was 
barely  thirty  years  of  age,  that  he  had  plenty  of  time 
before  him,  that  he  had  not  yet  seen  the  woman  whom 
he  would  be  willing  to  marry,  and  that  he  intended  to 
please  himself. 

The  Duchessa  d'Astrardente  made  her  speech  to  her 
hostess  and  passed  on,  still  followed  by  the  two  men; 
but  they  now  approached  her,  one  on  each  side,  and 
endeavoured  to  engage  her  attention.  Apparently  she 
intended  to  be  impartial,  for  she  sat  down  in  the  middle 
one  of  three  chairs,  and  motioned  to  her  two  compan 
ions  to  seat  themselves  also,  which  they  immediately 
did,  whereby  they  became  for  the  moment  the  two  most 
important  men  in  the  room. 

Corona  d'Astrardente  was  a  very  dark  woman.  In  all 
the  Southern  land  there  were  no  eyes  so  black  as  hers, 
no  cheeks  of  such  a  warm  dark-olive  tint,  no  tresses  of 


18  6ABACINESCA. 

such  raven  hue.  But  if  she  was  not  fair,  she  was  very 
beautiful ;  there  was  a  delicacy  in  her  regular  features 
that  artists  said  was  matchless ;  her  mouth,  not  small,  but 
generous  and  nobly  cut,  showed  perhaps  more  strength, 
more  even  determination,  than  most  men  like  to  see  in 
women's  faces ;  but  in  the  exquisitely  moulded  nostrils 
there  lurked  much  sensitiveness  and  the  expression  of 
much  courage  ;  and  the  level  brow  and  straight-cut  nose 
were  in  their  clearness  as  an  earnest  of  the  noble  thoughts 
that  were  within,  and  that  so  often  spoke  from  the  depths 
of  her  splendid  eyes.  She  was  not  a  scornful  beauty, 
though  her  face  could  express  scorn  well  enough.  Where 
another  woman  would  have  shown  disdain,  she  needed 
but  to  look  grave,  and  her  silence  did  the  rest.  She 
wielded  magnificent  weapons,  and  wielded  them  nobly, 
as  she  did  all  things.  She  needed  all  her  strength,  too, 
for  her  position  from  the  first  was  not  easy.  She  had 
few  troubles,  but  they  were  great  ones,  and  she  bore 
them  bravely. 

One  may  well  ask  why  Corona  del  Carmine  had  mar 
ried  the  old  man  who  was  her  husband — the  broken-down 
and  worn-out  dandy  of  sixty,  whose  career  was  so  well 
known,  and  whose  doings  had  been  as  scandalous  as  his 
ancient  name  was  famous  in  the  history  of  his  country. 
Her  marriage  was  in  itself  almost  a  tragedy.  It  mat 
ters  little  to  know  how  it  came  about ;  she  accepted  As- 
trardente  with  his  dukedom,  his  great  wealth,  and  his 
evil  past,  on  the  day  when  she  left  the  convent  where 
she  had  been  educated ;  she  did  it  to  save  her  father 
from  ruin,  almost  from  starvation;  she  was  seventeen 
years  of  age ;  she  was  told  that  the  world  was  bad,  and 
she  resolved  to  begin  her  life  by  a  heroic  sacrifice  ;  she 
took  the  step  heroically,  and  no  human  being  had  ever 
heard  her  complain.  Five  years  had  elapsed  since  then, 
and  her  father — for  whom  she  had  given  all  she  had,  her 
self,  her  beauty,  her  brave  heart,  and  her  hopes  of  happi 
ness — her  old  father,  whom  she  so  loved,  was  dead,  the 
last  of  his  race,  saving  only  this  beautiful  but  childless 


SARACINESCA.  19 

daughter.  What  she  suffered  now — whether  she  suffered 
at  all — no  man  knew.  There  had  been  a  wild  burst  of 
enthusiasm  when  she  appeared  first  in  society,  a  univer 
sal  cry  that  it  was  a  sin  and  a  shame.  But  the  cynics 
who  had  said  she  would  console  herself  had  been  obliged 
to  own  their  worldly  wisdom  at  fault ;  the  men  of  all 
sorts  who  had  lost  their  hearts  to  her  were  ignominiously 
driven  in  course  of  time  to  find  them  again  elsewhere. 
Amid  all  the  excitement  of  the  first  two  years  of  her  life 
in  the  world,  Corona  had  moved  calmly  upon  her  way, 
wrapped  in  the  perfect  dignity  of  her  character  ;  and  the 
old  Duca  d'Astrardente  had  smiled  and  played  with  the 
curled  locks  of  his  wonderful  wig,  and  had  told  every 
one  that  his  wife  was  the  one  woman  in  the  universe  who 
was  above  suspicion.  People  had  laughed  incredulously 
at  first ;  but  as  time  wore  on  they  held  their  peace,  tacitly 
acknowledging  that  the  aged  fop  was  right  as  usual,  but 
swearing  in  their  hearts  that  it  was  the  shame  of  shames 
to  see  the  noblest  woman  in  their  midst  tied  to  such  a 
wretched  remnant  of  dissipated  humanity  as  the  Duca 
d'Astrardente.  Corona  went  everywhere,  like  other 
people  ;  she  received  in  her  own  house  a  vast  number  of 
acquaintances ;  there  were  a  few  friends  who  came  and 
went  much  as  they  pleased,  and  some  of  them  were 
young ;  but  there  was  never  a  breath  of  scandal  breathed 
about  the  Duchessa.  She  was  indeed  above  suspicion. 

She  sat  now  between  two  men  who  were  evidently 
anxious  to  please  her.  The  position  was  not  new ;  she 
was,  as  usual,  to  talk  to  both,  and  yet  to  show  no  prefer 
ence  for  either.  And  yet  she  had  a  preference,  and  in  her 
heart  she  knew  it  was  a  strong  one.  It  was  by  no  means 
indifferent  to  her  which  of  those  two  men  left  her  side 
and  which  remained.  She  was  above  suspicion — yes, 
above  the  suspicion  of  any  human  being  besides  herself, 
as  she  had  been  for  five  long  years.  She  knew  that  had 
her  husband  entered  the  room  and  passed  that  way,  he 
would  have  nodded  to  Giovanni  Saracinesca  as  carelessly 
as  though  Giovanni  had  been  his  wife's  brother — as  care- 


20  SABACINESCA. 

lessly  as  he  would  have  noticed  Ugo  del  Ferice  upon  her 
other  side.  But  in  her  own  heart  she  knew  that  there 
was  but  one  face  in  all  Rome  she  loved  to  see,  but  one 
voice  she  loved,  and  dreaded  too,  for  it  had  the  power  to 
make  her  life  seem  unreal,  till  she  wondered  how  long  it 
would  last,  and  whether  there  would  ever  be  any  change. 
The  difference  between  G-iovanni  and  other  men  had 
always  been  apparent.  Others  would  sit  beside  her  and 
make  conversation,  and  then  occasionally  would  make 
speeches  she  did  not  care  to  hear,  would  talk  to  her  of 
love — some  praising  it  as  the  only  thing  worth  living  for, 
some  with  affected  cynicism  scoffing  at  it  as  the  greatest 
of  unrealities,  contradicting  themselves  a  moment  later 
in  some  passionate  declaration  to  herself.  When  they 
were  foolish,  she  laughed  at  them  j  when  they  went  too 
far,  she  quietly  rose  and  left  them.  Such  experiences 
had  grown  rare  of  late,  for  she  had  earned  the  reputation 
of  being  cold  and  unmoved,  and  that  protected  her.  But 
Giovanni  had  never  talked  like  the  rest  of  them.  He 
never  mentioned  the  old,  worn  subjects  that  the  others 
harped  upon.  She  would  not  have  found  it  easy  to  say 
what  he  talked  about,  for  he  talked  indifferently  about 
many  subjects.  She  was  not  sure  whether  he  spent  more 
time  with  her  when  in  society  than  with  other  women ; 
she  reflected  that  he  was  not  so  brilliant  as  many  men  she 
knew,  not  so  talkative  as  the  majority  of  men  she  met ; 
she  knew  only — and  it  was  the  thing  she  most  bitterly 
reproached  herself  with — that  she  preferred  his  face 
above  all  other  faces,  and  his  voice  beyond  all  voices.  It 
never  entered  her  head  to  think  that  she  loved  him ;  it 
was  bad  enough  in  her  simple  creed  that  there  should  be 
any  man  whom  she  would  rather  see  than  not,  and  whom 
she  missed  when  he  did  not  approach  her.  She  was  a 
very  strong  and  loyal  woman,  who  had  sacrificed  herself 
to  a  man  who  knew  the  world  very  thoroughly,  who  in 
the  thoroughness  of  his  knowledge  was  able  to  see  that 
the  world  is  not  all  bad,  and  who,  in  spite  of  all  his  evil 
deeds%  was  proud  of  his  wife's  loyalty.  Astrardente  had 


SARACINESCA.  21 

made  a  bargain  when  he  married  Corona ;  but  he  was  a 
wise  man  in  his  generation,  and  he  knew  and  valued  her 
when  he  had  got  her.  He  knew  the  precise  dangers  to 
which  she  was  exposed,  and  he  was  not  so  cruel  as  to 
expose  her  to  them  willingly.  He  had  at  first  watched 
keenly  the  effect  produced  upon  her  by  conversing  with 
men  of  all  sorts  in  the  world,  and  among  others  he  had 
noticed  Giovanni ;  but  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  wife  was  equal  to  any  situation  in  which  she 
might  be  placed.  Moreover,  Giovanni  was  not  an  habitut 
at  the  Palazzo  Astrardente,  and  showed  none  of  the  usual 
signs  of  anxiety  to  please  the  Duchessa. 

From  the  time  when  Corona  began  to  notice  her  own 
predilection  for  Saracinesca,  she  had  been  angry  with  her 
self  for  it,  and  she  tried  to  avoid  him  ;  at  all  events,  she 
gave  him  no  idea  that  she  liked  him  especially.  Her  hus 
band,  who  at  first  had  delivered  many  lectures  on  the  sub 
ject  of  behaviour  in  the  world,  had  especially  warned  her 
against  showing  any  marked  coldness  to  a  man  she  wished 
to  shun.  "  Men,"  said  he,  "  are  accustomed  to  that ;  they 
regard  it  as  the  first  indication  that  a  woman  is  really  in 
terested  ;  when  you  want  to  get  rid  of  a  man,  treat  him  sys 
tematically  as  you  treat  everybody,  and  he  will  be  wounded 
at  your  indifference  and  go  away."  But  Giovanni  did  not 
go,  and  Corona  began  to  wonder  whether  she  ought  not 
to  do  something  to  break  the  interest  she  felt  in  him. 

At  the  present  moment  she  wanted  a  cup  of  tea.  She 
would  have  liked  to  send  Ugo  del  Ferice  for  it ;  she  did 
what  she  thought  least  pleasant  to  herself,  and  she  sent 
Giovanni.  The  servants  who  were  serving  the  refresh 
ments  had  all  left  the  room,  and  Saracinesca  went  in  pur 
suit  of  them.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone  Del  Ferice  spoke. 
His  voice  was  soft,  and  had  an  insinuating  tone  in  it. 

"They  are  saying  that  Don  Giovanni  is  to  be  married," 
he  remarked,  watching  .the  Duchessa  from  the  corners  of 
his  eyes  as  he  indifferently  delivered  himself  of  his  news. 

The  Duchessa  was  too  dark  a  woman  to  show  emotion 
easily.  Perhaps  she  did  not  believe  the  story  ;  her  eyes 

Vol.  10—2 


22  SAKACINBSCA. 

fixed  themselves  on  some  distant  object  in  the  room,  as 
though  she  were  intensely  interested  in  something  she 
saw,  and  she  paused  before  she  answered. 

"  That  is  news  indeed,  if  it  is  true.  And  whom  is  he 
going  to  marry  ?  " 

"  Donna  Tullia  Mayer,  the  widow  of  the  financier. 
She  is  immensely  rich,  and  is  some  kind  of  cousin  of  the 
Saracinesca." 

"How  strange!"  exclaimed  Corona.  "I  was  just  look 
ing  at  her.  Is  not  that  she  over  there,  with  the  green 
feathers  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  looking  in  the  direction 
the  Duchessa  indicated.  "  That  is  she.  One  may  know 
her  at  a  vast  distance  by  her  dress.  But  it  is  not  all 
settled  yet." 

"  Then  one  cannot  congratulate  Don  Giovanni  to 
day  ? "  asked  the  Duchessa,  facing  her  interlocutor 
rather  suddenly. 

"  No,"  he  answered ;  "  it  is  perhaps  better  not  to  speak 
to  him  about  it." 

"  It  is  as  well  that  you  warned  me,  for  I  would  cer 
tainly  have  spoken." 

"I  do  not  imagine  that  Saracinesca  likes  to  talk  of  his 
affairs  of  the  heart,"  said  Del  Ferice,  with  considerable 
gravity.  "  But  here  he  comes.  I  had  hoped  he  would 
have  taken  even  longer  to  get  that  cup  of  tea." 

"  It  was  long  enough  for  you  to  tell  your  news,"  an 
swered  Corona  quietly,  as  Don  Giovanni  came  up. 

"  What  is  the  news  ?  "  asked  he,  as  he  sat  down  beside 
her. 

"Only  an  engagement  that  is  not  yet  announced," 
answered  the  Duchessa.  "Del  Ferice  has  the  secret; 
perhaps  he  will  tell  you." 

Giovanni  glanced  across  her  at  the  fair  pale  man,  whose 
fat  face,  however,  expressed  nothing.  Seeing  he  was  not 
enlightened,  Saracinesca  civilly  turned  the  subject. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  meet  to-morrow,  Duchessa  ?  "  he 
asked. 


SAKACINESCA.  23 

"  That  depends  upon  the  weather  and  upon  the  Duke," 
she  answered.  "  Are  you  going  to  follow  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     What  a  pity  it  is  that  you  do  not  ride ! " 

"It  seems  such  an  unnatural  thing  to  see  a  woman 
hunting,"  remarked  Del  Ferice,  who  remembered  to  have 
heard  the  Duchessa  say  something  of  the  kind,  and  was 
consequently  sure  that  she  would  agree  with  him. 

"You  do  not  ride  yourself,"  said  Don  Giovanni,  shortly. 
"That  is  the  reason  you  do  not  approve  of  it  for  ladies." 

"I  am  not  rich  enough  to  hunt,"  said  Ugo,  modestly. 
"  Besides,  the  other  reason  is  a  good  one  ;  for  when  ladies 
hunt  I  am  deprived  of  their  society." 

The  Duchessa  laughed  slightly.  She  never  felt  less 
like  laughing  in  her  life,  and  yet  it  was  necessary  to 
encourage  the  conversation.  Giovanni  did  not  abandon 
the  subject. 

"It  will  be  a  beautiful  meet,"  he  said.  "Many  people 
are  going  out  for  the  first  time  this  year.  There  is  a  man 
here  who  has  brought  his  horses  from  England.  I  forget 
his  name — a  rich  Englishman." 

"  I  have  met  him,"  said  Del  Ferice,  who  was  proud  of 
knowing  everybody.  "He  is  a  type — enormously  rich 
— a  lord — I  cannot  pronounce  his  name — not  married 
either.  He  will  make  a  sensation  in  society.  He  won 
races  in  Paris  last  year,  and  they  say  he  will  enter  one  of 
his  hunters  for  the  steeplechases  here  at  Easter." 

"  That  is  a  great  inducement  to  go  to  the  meet,  to  see 
this  Englishman,"  said  the  Duchessa  rather  wearily,  as 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  Giovanni  was  silent,  but 
showed  no  intention  of  going.  Del  Ferice,  with  an  equal 
determination  to  stay,  chattered  vivaciously. 

"  Don  Giovanni  is  quite  right,"  he  continued.  "  Every 
one  is  going.  There  will  be  two  or  three  drags.  Madame 
Mayer  has  induced  Valdarno  to  have  out  his  four-in-hand, 
and  to  take  her  and  a  large  party." 

The  Duchessa  did  not  hear  the  remainder  of  Del  Fence's 
speech,  for  at  the  mention  of  Donna  Tullia — now  com 
monly  called  Madame  Mayer — she  instinctively  turned 


24  SARACINESCA. 

and  looked  at  Giovanni.  He,  too,  had  caught  the  name, 
though  he  was  not  listening  in  the  least  to  Ugo's  chatter ; 
and  as  he  met  Corona's  eyes  he  moved  uneasily,  as  much 
as  to  say  he  wished  the  fellow  would  stop  talking.  A 
moment  later  Del  Ferice  rose  from  his  seat ;  he  had  seen 
Donna  Tullia  passing  near,  and  thought  the  opportunity 
favourable  for  obtaining  an  invitation  to  join  the  party 
on  the  drag.  With  a  murmured  excuse  which  Corona  did 
not  hear,  he  went  in  pursuit  of  his  game. 

"  I  thought  he  was  never  going,"  said  Giovanni,  moodily. 
He  was  not  in  the  habit  of  posing  as  the  rival  of  any  one 
who  happened  to  be  talking  to  the  Duchessa.  He  had 
never  said  anything  of  the  kind  before,  and  Corona  ex 
perienced  a  new  sensation,  not  altogether  unpleasant.  She 
looked  at  him  in  some  surprise. 

"  Do  you  not  like  Del  Ferice  ?  "  she  inquired,  gravely. 

"  Do  you  like  him  yourself  ?  "  he  asked  in  reply. 

"  What  a  question !  Why  should  I  like  or  dislike  any 
one  ?  "  There  was  perhaps  the  smallest  shade  of  bitter 
ness  in  her  voice  as  she  asked  the  question  she  had  so 
often  asked  herself.  Why  should  she  like  Giovanni 
Saracinesca,  for  instance  ? 

"  I  do  not  know  what  the  world  would  be  like  if  we 
had  no  likes  and  dislikes,"  said  Giovanni,  suddenly.  "  It 
would  be  a  poor  place ;  perhaps  it  is  only  a  poor  place  at 
best.  I  merely  wondered  whether  Del  Ferice  amused  you 
as  he  amuses  everybody." 

"Well  then,  frankly,  he  has  not  amused  me  to-day," 
answered  Corona,  with  a  smile. 

"  Then  you  are  glad  he  is  gone  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  regret  it." 

"Duchessa,"  said  Giovanni,  suddenly  changing  his 
position,  "I  am  glad  he  is  gone,  because  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  question.  Do  I  know  you  well  enough  to  ask  you 
a  question  ?  " 

"  It  depends "  Corona  felt  the  blood  rise  suddenly 

to  her  dark  forehead.  Her  hands  burned  intensely  in  her 
gloves.  The  anticipation  of  something  she  had  never 


SAKACINESCA.  25 

heard  made  her  heart  beat  uncontrollably  in  her 
breast. 

"  It  is  only  about  myself/7  continued  Giovanni,  in  low 
tones.  He  had  seen  the  blush,  so  rare  a  sight  that  there 
was  not  another  man  in  Borne  who  had  seen  it.  He  had 
not  time  to  think  what  it  meant.  "  It  is  only  about  my 
self,"  he  went  on.  "  My  father  wants  me  to  marry ;  he 
insists  that  I  should  marry  Donna  Tullia — Madame 
Mayer.7' 

"  Well  ? 77  asked  Corona.  She  shivered ;  a  moment  be 
fore,  she  had  been  oppressed  with  the  heat.  Her  mono 
syllabic  question  was  low  and  indistinct.  She  wondered 
whether  Giovanni  could  hear  the  beatings  of  her  heart,  so 
slow,  so  loud  they  almost  deafened  her. 

"  Simply  this.     Do  you  advise  me  to  marry  her  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me,  of  all  people  ? 77  asked  Corona, 
faintly. 

"I  would  like  to  have  your  advice/7  said  Giovanni, 
twisting  his  brown  hands  together  and  fixing  his  bright 
eyes  upon  her  face. 

"She  is  young  yet.  She  is  handsome — she  is  fabu 
lously  rich.  Why  should  you  not  marry  her  ?  Would 
she  make  you  happy  ? 77 

"  Happy  ?  Happy  with  her  ?  No  indeed.  Do  you  think 
life  would  be  bearable  with  such  a  woman  ? 77 

"  I  do  not  know.  Many  men  would  marry  her  if  they 
could 77 

"  Then  you  think  I  should  ? 77  asked  Giovanni.  Corona 
hesitated ;  she  could  not  understand  why  she  should  care, 
and  yet  she  was  conscious  that  there  had  been  no  such 
struggle  in  her  life  since  the  day  she  had  blindly  resolved 
to  sacrifice  herself  to  her  fathers  wishes  in  accepting 
Astrardente.  Still  there  could  be  no  doubt  what  she 
should  say :  how  could  she  advise  any  one  to  marry  with 
out  the  prospect  of  the  happiness  she  had  never  had  ? 

"  Will  you  not  give  me  your  counsel  ? 77  repeated  Sara- 
cinesca.  He  had  grown  very  pale,  and  spoke  with  such 
earnestness  that  Corona  hesitated  no  longer. 


26  SAEACINESCA. 

"  I  would  certainly  advise  you  to  think  no  more  about 
it,  if  you  are  sure  that  you  cannot  be  happy  with  her." 

Giovanni  drew  a  long  breath,  the  blood  returned  to  his 
face,  and  his  hands  unlocked  themselves. 

"  I  will  think  no  more  about  it,"  he  said.  "  Heaven 
bless  you  for  your  advice,  Duchessa ! " 

"  Heaven  grant  I  have  advised  you  well ! "  said  Co 
rona,  almost  inaudibly.  "  How  cold  this  house  is ! 
Will  you  put  down  my  cup  of  tea  ?  Let  us  go  near  the 
fire  ;  Strillone  is  going  to  sing  again/7 

"  I  would  like  him  to  sing  a  l  Nunc  diniittis,  Domine,' 
for  me,"  murmured  Giovanni,  whose  eyes  were  filled  with 
a  strange  light. 

Half  an  hour  later  Corona  d' Astrardente  went  down  the 
steps  of  the  Embassy  wrapped  in  her  furs  and  preceded 
by  her  footman.  As  she  reached  the  bottom  Giovanni 
Saracinesca  came  swiftly  down  and  joined  her  as  her  car 
riage  drove  up  out  of  the  dark  courtyard.  The  footman 
opened  the  door,  but  Giovanni  put  out  his  hand  to  help 
Corona  to  mount  the  step.  She  laid  her  small  gloved 
fingers  upon  the  sleeve  of  his  overcoat,  and  as  she  sprang 
lightly  in  she  thought  his  arm  trembled. 

"  Good  night,  Duchessa  j  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,"  he 
said. 

"  Good  night ;  why  should  you  be  grateful  ? "  she 
asked,  almost  sadly. 

Giovanni  did  not  answer,  but  stood  hat  in  hand  as  the 
great  carriage  rolled  out  under  the  arch.  Then  he  but 
toned  his  greatcoat,  and  went  out  alone  into  the  dark  and 
muddy  streets.  The  rain  had  ceased,  but  everything  was 
wet,  and  the  broad  pavements  gleamed  under  the  uncer 
tain  light  of  the  flickering  gas-lamps. 


SARACINESCA.  27 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  palace  of  the  Saracinesca  is  in  an  ancient  quarter 
of  Rome,  far  removed  from  the  broad  white  streets  of 
mushroom,  dwelling-houses  and  machine-laid  macadam; 
far  from  the  foreigners'  region,  the  varnish  of  the  fash 
ionable  shops,  the  whirl  of  brilliant  equipages,  and  the 
scream  of  the  newsvendor.  The  vast  irregular  buildings 
are  built  around  three  courtyards,  and  face  on  all  sides 
upon  narrow  streets.  The  first  sixteen  feet,  up  to  the 
heavily  ironed  windows  of  the  lower  storey,  consist  of 
great  blocks  of  stone,  worn  at  the  corners  and  scored 
along  their  length  by  the  battering  of  ages,  by  the  heavy 
carts  that  from  time  immemorial  have  found  the  way  too 
narrow  and  have  ground  their  iron  axles  against  the  mas 
sive  masonry.  Of  the  three  enormous  arched  gates  that 
give  access  to  the  interior  from  different  sides,  one  is 
closed  by  an  iron  grating,  another  by  huge  doors  studded 
with  iron  bolts,  and  the  third  alone  is  usually  open  as  an 
entrance.  A  tall  old  porter  used  to  stand  there  in  a  long 
livery-coat  and  a  cocked-hat ;  on  holidays  he  appeared  in 
the  traditional  garb  of  the  Parisian  "  Suisse,"  magnificent 
in  silk  stockings  and  a  heavily  laced  coat  of  dark  green, 
leaning  upon  his  tall  mace — a  constant  object  of  wonder 
to  the  small  boys  of  the  quarter.  He  trimmed  his  white 
beard  in  imitation  of  his  master's — broad  and  square — 
and  his  words  were  few  and  to  the  point. 

No  one  was  ever  at  home  in  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca  in 
those  days  ;  there  were  no  ladies  in  the  house ;  it  was  a 
man's  establishment,  and  there  was  something  severely 
masculine  in  the  air  of  the  gloomy  courtyards  surrounded 
by  dark  archways,  where  not  a  single  plant  or  bit  of 
colour  relieved  the  ancient  stone.  The  pavement  was 
clean  and  well  kept,  a  new  flagstone  here  and  there  show 
ing  that  some  care  was  bestowed  upon  maintaining  it  in 
good  repair ;  but  for  any  decoration  there  was  to  be  found 
in  the  courts,  the  place  might  have  been  a  fortress,  as 


28  SARACINESCA. 

indeed  it  once  was.  The  owners,  father  and  son,  lived 
in  their  ancestral  home  in  a  sort  of  solemn  magnificence 
that  savoured  of  feudal  times.  Giovanni  was  the  only 
son  of  five-and-twenty  years  of  wedlock.  His  mother 
had  been  older  than  his  father,  and  had  now  been  dead 
some  time.  She  had  been  a  stern  dark  woman,  and  had 
lent  no  feminine  touch  of  grace  to  the  palace  while  she 
lived  in  it,  her  melancholic  temper  rather  rejoicing  in 
the  sepulchral  gloom  that  hung  over  the  house.  The 
Saracinesca  had  always  been  a  manly  race,  preferring 
strength  to  beauty,  and  the  reality  of  power  to  the  amen 
ities  of  comfort. 

Giovanni  walked  home  from  the  afternoon  reception  at 
the  Embassy.  His  temper  seemed  to  crave  the  bleak  wet 
air  of  the  cold  streets,  and  he  did  not  hurry  himself.  He 
intended  to  dine  at  home  that  evening,  and  he  anticipated 
some  kind  of  disagreement  with  his  father.  The  two  men 
were  too  much  alike  not  to  be  congenial,  but  too  comba 
tive  by  nature  to  care  for  eternal  peace.  On  the  present 
occasion  it  was  likely  that  there  would  be  a  struggle,  for 
Giovanni  had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  marry  Madame 
Mayer,  and  his  father  was  equally  determined  that  he 
should  marry  her  at  once :  both  were  singularly  strong 
men,  singularly  tenacious  of  their  ^opinions. 

At  precisely  seven  o'clock  father  and  son  entered  from 
different  doors  the  small  sitting-room  in  which  they  gene 
rally  met,  and  they  had  no  sooner  entered  than  dinner 
was  announced.  Two  words  might  suffice  for  the  descrip 
tion  of  old  Prince  Saracinesca — he  was  an  elder  edition  of 
his  son.  Sixty  years  of  life  had  not  bent  his  strong 
frame  nor  dimmed  the  brilliancy  of  his  eyes,  but  his  hair 
and  beard  were  snowy  white.  He  was  broader  in  the 
shoulder  and  deeper  in  the  chest  than  Giovanni,  but  of 
the  same  height,  and  well  proportioned  still,  with  little 
tendency  to  stoutness.  He  was  to  all  appearance  pre 
cisely  what  his  son  would  be  at  his  age — keen  and  vigor 
ous,  the  stern  lines  of  his  face  grown  deeper,  and  his 
very  dark  eyes  and  complexion  made  more  noticeable  by 


SARACINESCA.  29 

the  dazzling  whiteness  of  his  hair  and  broad  square 
beard — the  same  type  in  a  different  stage  of  develop 
ment. 

The  dinner  was  served  with  a  certain  old-fashioned 
magnificence  which  has  grown  rare  in  Rome.  There  was 
old  plate  and  old  china  upon  the  table,  old  cut  glass  of  the 
diamond  pattern,  and  an  old  butler  who  moved  noise 
lessly  about  in  the  performance  of  the  functions  he  had 
exercised  in  the  same  room  for  forty  years,  and  which 
his  father  had  exercised  there  before  him.  Prince  Sara- 
cinesca  and  Don  Giovanni  sat  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
round  table,  now  and  then  exchanging  a  few  words. 

"I  was  caught  in  the  rain  this  afternoon,"  remarked 
the  Prince. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  have  a  cold,"  replied  his  son, 
civilly.  "  Why  do  you  walk  in  such  weather  ?  " 

"  And  you — why  do  you  walk  ?  "  retorted  his  father. 
"  Are  you  less  likely  to  take  cold  than  I  am  ?  I  walk 
because  I  have  always  walked." 

"  That  is  an  excellent  reason.  I  walk  because  I  do  not 
keep  a  carriage." 

"  Why  do  not  you  keep  one  if  you  wish  to  ?  "  asked  the 
Prince. 

"  I  will  do  as  you  wish.  I  will  buy  an  equipage  to 
morrow,  lest  I  should  again  walk  in  the  rain  and  catch 
cold.  Where  did  you  see  me  on  foot  ?  " 

"In  the  Orso,  half  an  hour  ago.  Why  do  you  talk 
about  my  wishes  in  that  absurd  way  ?  " 

"  Since  you  say  it  is  absurd,  I  will  not  do  so,"  said  Gio 
vanni,  quietly. 

"You  are  always  contradicting  me,"  said  the  Prince. 
"  Some  wine,  Pasquale." 

"  Contradicting  you  ?  "  repeated  Giovanni.  "  Nothing 
could  be  further  from  my  intentions." 

The  old  Prince  slowly  sipped  a  glass  of  wine  before  he 
answered. 

"Why  do  not  you  set  up  an  establishment  for  yourself 
and  live  like  a  gentleman  ?  "  he  asked  at  length.  "  You 


30  SARACINESCA. 

are  rich — why  do  you  go  about  on  foot  and  dine  in 
cafe's  ?  " 

"Do  I  ever  dine  at  a  cafe  when  you  are  dining 
alone  ?  " 

"  You  have  got  used  to  living  in  restaurants  in  Paris," 
retorted  his  father.  "  It  is  a  bad  habit.  What  was  the 
use  of  your  mother  leaving  you  a  fortune,  unless  you  will 
live  in  a  proper  fashion  ?  " 

"  I  understand  you  very  well,"  answered  Giovanni,  his 
dark  eyes  beginning  to  gleam.  "  You  know  all  that  is 
a  pretence.  I  am  the  most  home-staying  man  of  your 
acquaintance.  It  is  a  mere  pretence.  You  are  going  to 
talk  about  my  marriage  again." 

"  And  has  any  one  a  more  natural  right  to  insist  upon 
your  marriage  than  I  have  ?  "  asked  the  elder  man,  hotly. 
"  Leave  the  wine  on  the  table,  Pasquale — and  the  fruit — 
here.  Give  Don  Giovanni  his  cheese.  I  will  ring  for  the 
coffee — leave  us."  The  butler  and  the  footman  left  the 
room.  "  Has  any  one  a  more  natural  right,  I  ask  ?  "  re 
peated  the  Prince  when  they  were  alone. 

"  No  one  but  myself,  I  should  say,"  answered  Giovanni, 
bitterly. 

"  Yourself — yourself  indeed !  What  have  you  to  say 
about  it?  This  is  a  family  matter.  Would  you  have 
Saracinesca  sold,  to  be  distributed  piecemeal  among  a 
herd  of  dogs  of  starving  relations  you  never  heard  of, 
merely  because  you  are  such  a  vagabond,  such  a  Bohe 
mian,  such  a  break-neck,  crazy  good-for-nothing,  that  you 
will  not  take  the  trouble  to  accept  one  of  all  the  women 
who  rush  into  your  arms  ?  " 

"  Your  affectionate  manner  of  speaking  of  your  rela 
tives  is  only  surpassed  by  your  good  taste  in  describing 
the  probabilities  of  my  marriage,"  remarked  Giovanni, 
scornfully. 

"  And  you  say  you  never  contradict  me  ! "  exclaimed 
the  Prince,  angrily. 

"  If  this  is  an  instance,  I  can  safely  say  so.  Comment 
is  not  contradiction." 


SARACINESCA.  31 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  not  repeatedly  refused 
to  marry  ?  "  inquired  old  Saracinesca. 

"  That  would  be  untrue.  I  have  refused,  I  do  refuse, 
and  I  will  refuse,  just  so  long  as  it  pleases  me." 

"  That  is  definite,  at  all  events.  You  will  go  on  refus 
ing  until  you  have  broken  your  silly  neck  in  imitating 
Englishmen,  and  then — good  night,  Saracinesca !  The 
last  of  the  family  will  have  come  to  a  noble  end ! " 

"If  the  only  use  of  my  existence  is  to  become  the 
father  of  heirs  to  your  titles,  I  do  not  care  to  enjoy  them 
myself." 

"You  will  not  enjoy  them  till  my  death,  at  all  events. 
Did  you  evor  reflect  that  I  might  marry  again  ?  " 

"  If  you  please  to  do  so,  do  not  hesitate  on  my  account. 
Madame  Mayer  will  accept  you  as  soon  as  me.  Marry 
by  all  means,  and  may  you  have  a  numerous  progeny ; 
and  may  they  all  marry  in  their  turn,  the  day  they  are 
twenty.  I  wish  you  joy." 

"You  are  intolerable,  Giovanni.  I  should  think  you 
would  have  more  respect  for  Donna  Tullia " 

"  Than  to  call  her  Madame  Mayer,"  interrupted  Gio 
vanni. 

"Than  to  suggest  that  she  cares  for  nothing  but  a 
title  and  a  fortune " 

"  You  showed  much  respect  to  her  a  moment  ago,  when 
you  suggested  that  she  was  ready  to  rush  into  my  arms." 

"  I !  I  never  said  such  a  thing.  I  said  that  any 
woman " 

"Including  Madame  Mayer,  of  course,"  interrupted 
Giovanni  again. 

"  Can  you  not  let  me  speak  ?  "  roared  the  Prince.  Gio 
vanni  shrugged  his  shoulders  a  little,  poured  out  a  glass 
of  wine,  and  helped  himself  to  cheese,  but  said  nothing. 
Seeing  that  his  son  said  nothing,  old  Saracinesca  was 
silent  too ;  he  was  so  angry  that  he  had  lost  the  thread 
of  his  ideas.  Perhaps  Giovanni  regretted  the  quarrelsome 
tone  he  had  taken,  for  he  presently  spoke  to  his  father 
in  a  more  conciliatory  tone. 


32  SABACINESCA. 

"  Let  us  be  just,"  he  said.  "  I  will  listen  to  you,  and 
I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  listen  to  me.  In  the  first 
place,  when  I  think  of  marriage  I  represent  something  to 
myself  by  the  term " 

"  I  hope  so,"  growled  the  old  man. 

"I  look  upon  marriage  as  an  important  step  in  a  man's 
life.  I  am  not  so  old  as  to  make  my  marriage  an  imme 
diate  necessity,  nor  so  young  as  to  be  able  wholly  to  dis 
regard  it.  I  do  not  desire  to  be  hurried;  for  when  I 
make  up  my  mind,  I  intend  to  make  a  choice  which,  if  it 
does  not  ensure  happiness,  will  at  least  ensure  peace.  I 
do  not  wish  to  marry  Madame  Mayer.  She  is  young, 
handsome,  rich " 

"  Very,"  ejaculated  the  Prince. 

"  Very.     I  also  am  young  and  rich,  if  not  handsome." 

"Certainly  not  handsome,"  said  his  father,  who  was 
nursing  his  wrath,  and  meanwhile  spoke  calmly.  "  You 
are  the  image  of  me." 

"  I  am  proud  of  the  likeness,"  said  Giovanni,  gravely. 
"  But  to  return  to  Madame  Mayer.  She  is  a  widow " 

"  Is  that  her  fault  ?  "  inquired  his  father  irrelevantly, 
his  anger  rising  again. 

"  I  trust  not,"  said  Giovanni,  with  a  smile.  "  I  trust 
she  did  not  murder  old  Mayer.  Nevertheless  she  is  a 
widow.  That  is  a  strong  objection.  Have  any  of  my 
ancestors  married  widows  ?  " 

"You  show  your  ignorance  at  every  turn,"  said  the  old 
Prince,  with  a  scornful  laugh.  "Leone  Saracinesca 
married  the  widow  of  the  Elector  of  Limburger-Stinken- 
stein  in  1581." 

"  It  is  probably  the  German  blood  in  our  veins  which 
gives  you  your  taste  for  argument,"  remarked  Giovanni. 
"  Because  three  hundred  years  ago  an  ancestor  married 
a  widow,  I  am  to  marry  one  now.  Wait — do  not  be 
angry — there  are  other  reasons  why  I  do  not  care  for 
Madame  Mayer.  She  is  too  gay  for  me — too  fond  of  the 
world." 

The  Prince  burst  into  a  loud  ironical  laugh.    His  white 


SAKACINESCA.  33 

hair  and  beard  bristled  about  his  dark  face,  and  he 
showed  all  his  teeth,  strong  and  white  still. 

"  That  is  magnificent ! "  he  cried ;  "  it  is  superb, 
splendid,  a  piece  of  unpurchasable  humour!  Giovanni 
Saracinesca  has  found  a  woman  who  is  too  gay  for  him ! 
Heaven  be  praised!  We  know  his  taste  at  last.  We 
will  give  him  a  nun,  a  miracle  of  all  the  virtues,  a  little 
girl  out  of  a  convent,  vowed  to  a  life  of  sacrifice  and  self- 
renunciation.  That  will  please  him — he  will  be  a  model 
happy  husband." 

"I  do  not  understand  this  extraordinary  outburst," 
answered  Giovanni,  with  cold  scorn.  "Your  mirth  is 
amazing,  but  I  fail  to  understand  its  source." 

His  father  ceased  laughing,  and  looked  at  him  curi 
ously,  his  heavy  brows  bending  with  the  intenseness  of 
his  gaze.  Giovanni  returned  the  look,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  those  two  strong  angry  men  were  fencing  across 
the  table  with  their  fiery  glances.  The  son  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  I  am  not  the  kind  of 
man  to  be  allowed  to  marry  a  young  girl  ?  "  he  asked, 
not  taking  his  eyes  from  his  father. 

"  Look  you,  boy,"  returned  the  Prince,  "  I  will  have  no 
more  nonsense.  I  insist  upon  this  match,  as  I  have  told 
you  before.  It  is  the  most  suitable  one  that  I  can  find 
for  you ;  and  instead  of  being  grateful,  you  turn  upon 
me  and  refuse  to  do  your  duty.  Donna  Tullia  is  twenty- 
three  years  of  age.  She  is  brilliant,  rich.  There  is 
nothing  against  her.  She  is  a  distant  cousin " 

"  One  of  the  flock  of  vultures  you  so  tenderly  referred 
to,"  remarked  Giovanni. 

"  Silence ! "  cried  old  Saracinesca,  striking  his  heavy 
hand  upon  the  table  so  that  the  glasses  shook  together. 
"  I  will  be  heard  j  and  what  is  more,  I  will  be  obeyed. 
Donna  Tullia  is  a  relation.  The  union  of  two  such  for 
tunes  will  be  of  immense  advantage  to  your  children. 
There  is  everything  in  favour  of  the  match — nothing 
against  it.  You  shall  marry  her  a  month  from  to-day, 


34  SARACINESCA. 

I  will  give  you  the  title  of  Sant'  Ilario,  with  the  estate 
outright  into  the  bargain,  and  the  palace  in  the  Corso  to 
live  in,  if  you  do  not  care  to  live  here." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  ? "  asked  Giovanni,  choking  down 
his  anger. 

"  If  you  refuse,  you  shall  leave  my  house  a  month  from 
to-day,"  said  the  Prince,  savagely. 

"  Whereby  I  shall  be  fulfilling  your  previous  commands, 
in  setting  up  an  establishment  for  myself  and  living  like 
a  gentleman,"  returned  Giovanni,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 
"  It  is  nothing  to  me — if  you  turn  me  out.  I  am  rich, 
as  you  justly  observed." 

"  You  will  have  the  more  leisure  to  lead  the  life  you 
like  best,"  retorted  the  Prince ;  "  to  hang  about  in  society, 

to  go  where  you  please,  to  make  love  to "  the  old  man 

stopped  a  moment.  His  son  was  watching  him  fiercely, 
his  hand  clenched  upon  the  table,  his  face  as  white  as  death. 

"  To  whom  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  terrible  effort  to  be  calm. 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  of  you  ?  Do  you  think 
your  father  is  less  strong  or  less  fierce  than  you  ?  To 
whom  ? "  cried  the  angry  old  man,  his  whole  pent-up 
fury  bursting  out  as  he  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet.  "  To 
whom  but  to  Corona  d'Astrardente — to  whom  else  should 
you  make  love  ? — wasting  your  youth  and  life  upon  a 
mad  passion  !  All  Rome  says  it — I  will  say  it  too  ! " 

"  You  have  said  it  indeed,"  answered  Giovanni,  in  a  very 
low  voice.  He  remained  seated  at  the  table,  not  moving 
a  muscle,  his  face  as  the  face  of  the  dead.  "  You  have 
said  it,  and  in  insulting  that  lady  you  have  said  a  thing 
not  worthy  for  one  of  our  blood  to  say.  God  help  me  to 
remember  that  you  are  my  father,"  he  added,  trembling 
suddenly. 

"  Hold  !  "  said  the  Prince,  who,  with  all  his  ambition 
for  his  son,  and  his  hasty  temper,  was  an  honest  gentle 
man.  "  I  never  insulted  her — she  is  above  suspicion. 
It  is  you  who  are  wasting  your  life  in  a  hopeless  passion 
for  her.  See,  I  speak  calmly " 

"  What  does  i  all  Rome  say '  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  inter- 


SABACINESCA.  35 

rnpting  him.  He  was  still  deadly  pale,  but  his  hand 
was  unclenched,  and  as  he  spoke  he  rested  his  head  upon 
it,  looking  down  at  the  tablecloth. 

"  Everybody  says  that  you  are  in  love  with  the  Astrar- 
dente,  and  that  her  husband  is  beginning  to  notice  it." 

"  It  is  enough,  sir,"  said  Giovanni,  in  low  tones.  "  I 
will  consider  this  marriage  you  propose.  Give  me  until 
the  spring  to  decide." 

"  That  is  a  long  time,"  remarked  the  old  Prince,  resum 
ing  his  seat  and  beginning  to  peel  an  orange,  as  though 
nothing  had  happened.  He  was  far  from  being  calm,  but 
his  son's  sudden  change  of  manner  had  disarmed  his  anger. 
He  was  passionate  and  impetuous,  thoughtless  in  his  lan 
guage,  and  tyrannical  in  his  determination ;  but  he  loved 
Giovanni  dearly  for  all  that. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  long,"  said  Giovanni,  thoughtfully. 
"  I  give  you  my  word  that  I  will  seriously  consider  the 
marriage.  If  it  is  possible  for  me  to  marry  Donna  Tullia, 
I  will  obey  you,  and  I  will  give  you  my  answer  before 
Easter-day.  I  cannot  do  more." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  you  will  take  my  advice,"  answered 
Saracinesca,  now  entirely  pacified.  "  If  you  cannot  make 
up  your  mind  to  the  match,  I  may  be  able  to  find  some 
thing  else.  There  is  Bianca  Valdarno — she  will  have  a 
quarter  of  the  estate." 

"She  is  so  very  ugly,"  objected  Giovanni,  quietly. 
He  was  still  much  agitated,  but  he  answered  his  father 
mechanically. 

"That  is  true — they  are  all  ugly,  those  Valdarni. 
Besides,  they  are  of  Tuscan  origin.  What  do  you  say 
to  the  little  Rocca  girl?  She  has  great  chic;  she  was 
brought  up  in  England.  She  is  pretty  enough." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  would  be  extravagant." 

"She  could  spend  her  own  money  then;  it  will  be 
sufficient." 

"  It  is  better  to  be  on  the  safe  side,"  said  Giovanni. 
Suddenly  he  changed  his  position,  and  again  looked  at 
his  father.  "  I  am  sorry  we  always  quarrel  about  this 


36  SARACINESCA. 

question,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  really  want  to  marry,  but 
I  wish  to  oblige  you,  and  I  will  try.  Why  do  we  always 
come  to  words  over  it  ?  " 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  Prince,  with  a 
pleasant  smile.  "I  have  such  a  diabolical  temper,  I 
suppose." 

"And  I  have  inherited  it,"  answered  Don  Giovanni, 
with  a  laugh  that  was  meant  to  be  cheerful.  "But  I 
quite  see  your  point  of  view.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  settle 
in  life  by  this  time." 

"  Seriously,  I  think  so,  my  son.  Here  is  to  your  future 
happiness,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  touching  his  glass 
with  his  lips. 

"  And  here  is  to  our  future  peace,"  returned  Giovanni, 
also  drinking. 

"  We  never  really  quarrel,  Giovanni,  do  we  ?  "  said  his 
father.  Every  trace  of  anger  had  vanished.  His  strong 
face  beamed  with  an  affectionate  smile  that  was  like  the 
sun  after  a  thunderstorm. 

"  No,  indeed,"  answered  his  son,  cordially.  "  We  can 
not  afford  to  quarrel ;  there  are  only  two  of  us  left." 

"  That  is  what  I  always  say,"  assented  the  Prince,  be 
ginning  to  eat  the  orange  he  had  carefully  peeled  since  he 
had  grown  calm.  "  If  two  men  like  you  and  me,  niy  boy, 
can  thoroughly  agree,  there  is  nothing  we  cannot  accom 
plish  ;  whereas  if  we  go  against  each  other " 

"  Justitia  non  fit,  coelum  vero  met,"  suggested  Giovanni, 
in  parody  of  the  proverb. 

"  I  am  a  little  rusty  in  my  Latin,  Giovannino,"  said  the 
old  gentleman. 

"Heaven  is  turned  upside  down,  but  justice  is  not  done." 

"No ;  one  is  never  just  when  one  is  angry.  But  storms 
clear  the  sky,  as  they  say  up  at  Saracinesca." 

"By  the  bye,  have  you  heard  whether  that  question  of 
the  timber  has  been  settled  yet  ?  "  asked  Giovanni. 

"  Of  course — I  had  forgotten.  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
it,"  answered  his  father,  cheerfully.  So  they  chatted 
peacefully  for  another  half -hour ;  and  no  one  would  have 


SAKACINESCA.  37 

thought,  in  looking  at  them,  that  such  fierce  passions  had 
been  roused,  nor  that  one  of  them  felt  as  though  his  death- 
warrant  had  been  signed.  When  they  separated,  Giovanni 
went  to  his  own  rooms,  and  locked  himself  in. 

He  had  assumed  an  air  of  calmness  which  was  not  real 
before  he  left  his  father.  In  truth  he  was  violently  agi 
tated.  He  was  as  fiery  as  his  father,  but  his  passions 
were  of  greater  strength  and  of  longer  duration ;  for  his 
mother  had  been  a  Spaniard,  and  something  of  the  melan 
choly  of  her  country  had  entered  into  his  soul,  giving 
depth  and  durability  to  the  hot  Italian  character  he 
inherited  from  his  father.  Nor  did  the  latter  suspect  the 
cause  of  his  son's  sudden  change  of  tone  in  regard  to  the 
marriage.  It  was  precisely  the  difference  in  tempera 
ment  which  made  Giovanni  incomprehensible  to  the  old 
Prince. 

Giovanni  had  realised  for  more  than  a  year  past  that 
he  loved  Corona  d'Astrardente.  Contrary  to  the  custom 
of  young  men  in  his  position,  he  determined  from  the  first 
that  he  would  never  let  her  know  it ;  and  herein  lay  the 
key  to  all  his  actions.  He  had,  as  he  thought,  made  a 
point  of  behaving  to  her  on  all  occasions  as  he  behaved 
to  the  other  women  he  met  in  the  world,  and  he  believed 
that  he  had  skilfully  concealed  his  passion  from  the  world 
and  from  the  woman  he  loved.  He  had  acted  on  all  occa 
sions  with  a  circumspection  which  was  not  natural  to  him, 
and  for  which  he  undeniably  deserved  great  credit.  It 
had  been  a  year  of  constant  struggles,  constant  efforts  at 
self-control,  constant  determination  that,  if  possible,  he 
would  overcome  his  instincts.  It  was  true  that,  when 
occasion  offered,  he  had  permitted  himself  the  pleasure 
of  talking  to  Corona  d'Astrardente — talking,  he  well 
knew,  upon  the  most  general  subjects,  but  finding  at 
each  interview  some  new  point  of  sympathy.  Never,  he 
could  honestly  say,  had  he  approached  in  that  time  the 
subject  of  love,  nor  even  the  equally  dangerous  topic  of 
friendship,  the  discussion  of  which  leads  to  so  many 
ruinous  experiments.  He  had  never  by  look  or  word 


38  •    SARACINESOA. 

sought  to  interest  the  dark  Duchessa  in  his  doings  nor.  in 
himself;  he  had  talked  of  books,  of  politics,  of  social 
questions,  but  never  of  himself  nor  of  herself.  He  had 
faithfully  kept  the  promise  he  had  made  in  his  heart, 
that  since  he  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  love  the  wife  of 
another — a  woman  of  such  nobility  that  even  in  Borne 
no  breath  had  been  breathed  against  her — he  would  keep 
his  unfortunate  passion  to  himself.  Astrardente  was  old, 
almost  decrepit,  in  spite  of  his  magnificent  wig ;  Corona 
was  but  two-and-twenty  years  of  age.  If  ever  her  hus 
band  died,  Giovanni  would  present  himself  before  the 
world  as  her  suitor ;  meanwhile  he  would  do  nothing  to 
injure  her  self-respect  nor  to  disturb  her  peace — he  hardly 
flattered  himself  he  could  do  that,  for  he  loved  her  truly — 
and  above  all,  he  would  do  nothing  to  compromise  the 
unsullied  reputation  she  enjoyed.  She  might  never  love 
him;  but  he  was  strong  and  patient,  and  would  do  her 
the  only  honour  it  was  in  his  power  to  do  her,  by  waiting 
patiently. 

But  Giovanni  had  not  considered  that  he  was  the  most 
conspicuous  man  in  society ;  that  there  were  many  who 
watched  his  movements,  in  hopes  he  would  come  their 
way;  that  when  he  entered  a  room,  many  had  noticed 
that,  though  he  never  went  directly  to  Corona's  side,  he 
always  looked  first  towards  her,  and  never  omitted  to 
speak  with  her  in  the  course  of  an  evening.  Keen  ob 
servers,  the  jays  of  society  who  hover  about  the  eagle's 
nest,  had  not  failed  to  observe  a  look  of  annoyance  on 
Giovanni's  face  when  he  did  not  succeed  in  being  alone 
by  Corona's  side  for  at  least  a  few  minutes;  and  Del 
Ferice,  who  was  a  sort  of  news-carrier  in  Borne,  had  now 
and  then  hinted  that  Giovanni  was  in  love.  People  had 
repeated  his  hints,  as  he  intended  they  should,  with  the 
illuminating  wit  peculiar  to  tale-bearers,  and  the  story  had 
gone  abroad  accordingly.  True,  there  was  not  a  man  in 
Borne  bold  enough  to  allude  to  the  matter  in  Giovanni's 
presence,  even  if  any  one  had  seen  any  advantage  in  so 
doing ;  but  such  things  do  not  remain  hidden.  His  own 


SARACINESCA.  39 

father  had  told  him  in  a  fit  of  anger,  and  the  blow  kad 
produced  its  effect. 

Giovanni  sat  down  in  a  deep  easy-chair  in  his  own 
room,  and  thought  over  the  situation.  His  first  impulse 
had  been  to  be  furiously  angry  with  his  father ;  but  the 
latter  having  instantly  explained  that  there  was  nothing 
to  be  said  against  the  Duchessa,  Giovanni's  anger  against 
the  Prince  had  turned  against  himself.  It  was  bitter  to 
think  that  all  his  self-denial,  all  his  many  and  prolonged 
efforts  to  conceal  his  love,  had  been  of  no  avail.  He 
cursed  his  folly  and  imprudence,  while  wondering  how  it 
was  possible  that  the  story  should  have  got  abroad.  He 
did  not  waver  in  his  determination  to  hide  his  inclina 
tions,  to  destroy  the  impression  he  had  so  unwillingly  pro 
duced.  The  first  means  he  found  in  his  way  seemed  the 
best.  To  marry  Donna  Tullia  at  once,  before  the  story  of 
his  affection  for  the  Duchessa  had  gathered  force,  would, 
he  thought,  effectually  shut  the  mouths  of  the  gossips. 
From  one  point  of  view  it  was  a  noble  thought,  the  deter 
mination  to  sacrifice  himself  wholly  and  for  ever,  rather 
than  permit  his  name  to  be  mentioned  ever  so  innocently 
in  connection  with  the  woman  he  loved;  to  root  out 
utterly  his  love  for  her  by  seriously  engaging  his  faith  to 
another,  and  keeping  that  engagement  with  all  the 
strength  of  fidelity  he  knew  himself  to  possess.  He 
would  save  Corona  from  annoyance,  and  her  name  from 
the  scandal-mongers ;  and  if  any  one  ever  dared  to  men 
tion  the  story 

Giovanni  rose  to  his  feet  and  mechanically  took  a 
fencing-foil  from  the  wall,  as  he  often  did  for  practice. 
If  any  one  mentioned  the  story,  he  thought,  he  had  the 
means  to  silence  them,  quickly  and  for  ever.  His  eyes 
flashed  suddenly  at  the  idea  of  action — any  action,  even 
fighting,  which  might  be  distantly  connected  with  Corona. 
Then  he  tossed  down  the  rapier  and  threw  himself  into 
his  chair,  and  sat  quite  still,  staring  at  the  trophies  of 
armour  upon  the  wall  opposite. 

He  could  not  do  it.     To  wrong  one  woman  for  the  sake 


40  SAKACINESCA. 

of  shielding  another  was  not  in  his  power.  People  might 
laugh  at  him  and  call  him  Quixotic,  forsooth,  because  he 
would  not  do  like  every  one  else  and  make  a  marriage  of 
convenience — of  propriety.  Propriety !  when  his  heart 
was  breaking  within  him ;  when  every  fibre  of  his  strong 
frame  quivered  with  the  strain  of  passion  ;  when  his  ach 
ing  eyes  saw  only  one  face,  and  his  ears  echoed  the  words 
she  had  spoken  that  very  afternoon  !  Propriety  indeed ! 
Propriety  was  good  enough  for  cold-blooded  dullards. 
Donna  Tullia  had  done  him  no  harm  that  he  should  marry 
her  for  propriety's  sake,  and  make  her  life  miserable  for 
thirty,  forty,  fifty  years.  It  would  be  propriety  rather 
for  him  to  go  away,  to  bury  himself  in  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  until  he  could  forget  Corona  d'Astrardente,  her 
splendid  eyes,  and  her  deep  sweet  voice. 

He  had  pledged  his  father  his  word  that  he  would  con 
sider  the  marriage,  and  he  was  to  give  his  answer  before 
Easter.  That  was  a  long  time  yet.  He  would  consider 
it ;  and  if  by  Eastertide  he  had  forgotten  Corona,  he  would 

he  laughed  aloud  in  his  silent  room,  and  the  sound  of 

his  voice  startled  him  from  his  reverie. 

Forget  ?  Did  such  men  as  he  forget  ?  Other  men  did. 
What  were  they  made  of  ?  They  did  not  love  such  women, 
perhaps  ;  that  was  the  reason  they  forgot.  Any  one  could 
forget  poor  Donna  Tullia.  And  yet  how  was  it  possible 
to  forget  if  one  loved  truly  ? 

Giovanni  had  never  believed  himself  in  love  before. 
He  had  known  one  or  two  women  who  had  attracted  him 
strongly ;  but  he  had  soon  found  out  that  he  had  no  real 
sympathy  with  them,  that  though  they  amused  him  they 
had  no  charm  for  him — most  of  all,  that  he  could  not 
imagine  himself  tied  to  any  one  of  them  for  life  without 
conceiving  the  situation  horrible  in  the  extreme.  To  his 
independent  nature  the  idea  of  such  ties  was  repugnant : 
he  knew  himself  too  courteous  to  break  through  the  civil 
ities  of  life  with  a  wife  he  did  not  love  ;  but  he  knew  also 
that  in  marrying  a  woman  who  was  indifferent  to  him,  he 
would  be  engaging  to  play  a  part  for  life  in  the  most 


SARACINESCA.  41 

fearful  of  all  plays — the  part  of  a  man  who  strives  to  bear 
bravely  the  galling  of  a  chain  he  is  too  honourable  to  break. 
It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Giovanni  went 
to  bed ;  and  even  then  he  slept  little,  for  his  dreams  were 
disturbed.  Once  he  thought  he  stood  upon  a  green  lawn 
with  a  sword  in  his  hand,  and  the  blood  upon  its  point,  his 
opponent  lying  at  his  feet.  Again,  he  thought  he  was 
alone  in  a  vast  drawing-room,  and  a  dark  woman  came 
and  spoke  gently  to  him,  saying,  "Marry  her  for  my  sake." 
He  awoke  with  a  groan.  The  church  clocks  were  strik 
ing  eight,  and  the  meet  was  at  eleven,  five  miles  beyond 
the  Porta  Pia.  Giovanni  started  up  and  rang  for  his 
servant. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  a  beautiful  day,  and  half  Home  turned  out  to  see 
the  meet,  not  because  it  was  in  any  way  different  from 
other  meets,  but  because  it  chanced  that  society  had  a 
fancy  to  attend  it.  Society  is  very  like  a  fever  patient 
in  a  delirium  ;  it  is  rarely  accountable  for  its  actions ;  it 
scarcely  ever  knows  what  it  is  saying ;  and  occasionally, 
without  the  least  warning  or  premeditation,  it  leaps  out  of 
bed  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning  and  rushes  frantically 
in  pursuit  of  its  last  hallucination.  The  main  difference 
is,  that  whereas  a  man  in  a  fever  has  a  nurse,  society  has 
none. 

On  the  present  occasion  every  one  had  suddenly  con 
ceived  the  idea  of  going  to  the  meet,  and  the  long  road 
beyond  the  Porta  Pia  was  dotted  for  miles  with  equipages 
of  every  description,  from  the  four-in-hand  of  Prince  Val- 
darno  to  the  humble  donkey-cart  of  the  caterer  who  sells 
messes  of  boiled  beans,  and  bread  and  cheese,  and  salad 
to  the  grooms — an  institution  not  connected  in  the  Eng 
lish  mind  with  hunting.  One  after  another  the  vehicles 
rolled  out  along  the  road,  past  Sant'  Agnese,  down  the 


42  SARACINESCA. 

hill  and  across  the  Ponte  Nomentana,  and  far  up  beyond 
to  a  place  where  three  roads  met  and  there  was  a  broad 
open  stretch  of  wet,  withered  grass.  Here  the  carriages 
turned  in  and  ranged  themselves  side  by  side,  as  though 
they  were  pausing  in  the  afternoon  drive  upon  the  Pincio, 
instead  of  being  five  miles  out  upon  the  broad  Campagna. 

To  describe  the  mountains  to  southward  of  Rome  would 
be  an  insult  to  nature ;  to  describe  a  meet  would  be  an 
affront  to  civilised  readers  of  the  English  language.  The 
one  is  too  familiar  to  everybody ;  the  pretty  crowd  of  men 
and  women,  dotted  with  pink  and  set  off  by  the  neutral 
colour  of  the  winter  fields ;  the  hunters  of  all  ages,  and 
sizes,  and  breeds,  led  slowly  up  and  down  by  the  grooms ; 
while  from  time  to  time  some  rider  gets  into  the  saddle  and 
makes  himself  comfortable,  assures  himself  of  girth  and 
stirrup,  and  of  the  proper  disposal  of  the  sandwich-box  and 
sherry-flask,  gives  a  final  word  of  instruction  to  his  groom, 
and  then  moves  slowly  off.  A  Roman  meet  is  a  little 
less  business-like  than  the  same  thing  elsewhere ;  there  is 
a  little  more  dawdling,  a  little  more  conversation  when 
many  ladies  chance  to  have  come  to  see  the  hounds  throw 
off ;  otherwise  it  is  not  different  from  other  meets.  As 
for  the  Roman  mountains,  they  are  so  totally  unlike  any 
other  hills  in  the  world,  and  so  extremely  beautiful  in  their 
own  peculiar  way,  that  to  describe  them  would  be  an  idle 
and  a  useless  task,  which  could  only  serve  to  exhibit  the 
vanity  of  the  writer  and  the  feebleness  of  his  pen. 

Don  Giovanni  arrived  early  in  spite  of  his  sleepless 
night.  He  descended  from  his  dogcart  by  the  roadside, 
instead  of  driving  into  the  field,  and  he  took  a  careful 
survey  of  the  carriages  he  saw  before  him.  Conspicuous 
in  the  distance  he  distinguished  Donna  Tullia  Mayer 
standing  among  a  little  crowd  of  men  near  Valdarno's 
drag.  She  was  easily  known  by  her  dress,  as  Del  Ferice 
had  remarked  on  the  previous  evening.  On  this  occasion 
she  wore  a  costume  in  which  the  principal  colours  were 
green  and  yellow,  an  enormous  hat,  with  feathers  in  the 
same  proportion  surmounting  her  head,  and  she  carried 


SARACINESCA.  43 

a  yellow  parasol.  She  was  a  rather  handsome  woman  of 
middle  height,  with  unnaturally  blond  hair,  and  a  fairly 
good  complexion,  which  as  yet  she  had  wisely  abstained 
from  attempting  to  improve  by  artificial  means ;  her  eyes 
were  blue,  but  uncertain  in  their  glance — of  the  kind 
which  do  not  inspire  confidence ;  and  her  mouth  was 
much  admired,  being  small  and  red,  with  full  lips.  She 
was  rapid  in  her  movements,  and  she  spoke  in  a  loud 
voice,  easily  collecting  people  about  her  wherever  there 
were  any  to  collect.  Her  conversation  was  not  brilliant, 
but  it  was  so  abundant  that  its  noisy  vivacity  passed  cur 
rent  for  cleverness ;  she  had  a  remarkably  keen  judgment 
of  people,  and  a  remarkably  bad  taste  in  her  opinions  of 
things  artistic,  from  beauty  in  nature  to  beauty  in  dress, 
but  she  maintained  her  point  of  view  obstinately,  and  ad 
mitted  no  contradiction.  It  was  a  singular  circumstance 
that  whereas  many  of  her  attributes  were  distinctly  vul 
gar,  she  nevertheless  had  an  indescribable  air  of  good 
breeding,  the  strange  inimitable  stamp  of  social  superior 
ity  which  cannot  be  acquired  by  any  known  process  of 
education.  A  person  seeing  her  might  be  surprised  at  her 
loud  talking,  amused  at  her  eccentricities  of  dress,  and 
shocked  at  her  bold  manner,  but  no  one  would  ever  think 
of  classing  her  anywhere  save  in  what  calls  itself  "  the 
best  society." 

Among  the  men  who  stood  talking  to  Donna  Tullia 
was  the  inevitable  Del  Ferice,  a  man  of  whom  it  might 
be  said  that  he  was  never  missed,  because  he  was  always 
present.  Giovanni  disliked  Del  Ferice  without  being 
able  to  define  his  aversion.  He  disliked  generally  men 
whom  he  suspected  of  duplicity ;  and  he  had  no  reason 
for  supposing  that  truth,  looking  into  her  mirror,  would 
have  seen  there  the  image  of  Ugo's  fat  pale  face  and 
colourless  moustache.  But  if  Ugo  was  a  liar,  he  must 
have  had  a  good  memory,  for  he  never  got  himself  into 
trouble,  and  he  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  useful  mem 
ber  of  society,  an  honour  to  which  persons  of  doubtful 
veracity  rarely  attain.  Giovanni,  however,  disliked  him, 


44  SARACINESCA. 

and  suspected  him  of  many  things ;  and  although  he  had 
intended  to  go  up  to  Donna  Tullia,  the  sight  of  Del 
Ferice  at  her  side  very  nearly  prevented  him.  He 
strolled  leisurely  down  the  little  slope,  and  as  he  neared 
the  crowd,  spoke  to  one  or  two  acquaintances,  mentally 
determining  to  avoid  Madame  Mayer,  and  to  mount 
immediately.  But  he  was  disappointed  in  his  intention. 
As  he  stood  for  a  moment  beside  the  carriage  of  the 
Marchesa  Eocca,  exchanging  a  few  words  with  her,  and 
looking  with  some  interest  at  her  daughter,  the  little 
Kocca  girl  whom  his  father  had  proposed  as  a  possible 
wife  for  him,  he  forgot  his  proximity  to  the  lady  he 
wished  to  avoid ;  and  when,  a  few  seconds  later,  he  pro 
ceeded  in  the  direction  of  his  horse,  Madame  Mayer 
stepped  forward  from  the  knot  of  her  admirers  and 
tapped  him  familiarly  upon  the  shoulder  with  the  handle 
of  her  parasol. 

"  So  you  were  not  going  to  speak  to  me  to-day  ?  "  she 
said  rather  roughly,  after  her  manner. 

Giovanni  turned  sharply  and  faced  her,  bowing  low. 
Donna  Tullia  laughed. 

"Is  there  anything  so  amazingly  ridiculous  in  my  ap 
pearance  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Altro  !  when  you  make  that  tremendous  salute " 

"  It  was  intended  to  convey  an  apology  as  well  as  a 
greeting,"  answered  Don  Giovanni,  politely. 

"  I  would  like  more  apology  and  less  greeting." 

"  I  am  ready  to  apologise " 

"Humbly,  without  defending  yourself/7  said  Donna 
Tullia,  beginning  to  walk  slowly  forward.  Giovanni  was 
obliged  to  follow  her. 

"My  defence  is,  nevertheless,  a  very  good  one,"  he 
said. 

"  Well,  if  it  is  really  good,  I  may  listen  to  it ;  but  you 
will  not  make  me  believe  that  you  intended  to  behave 
properly." 

"  I  am  in  a  very  bad  humour.  I  would  not  inflict  my 
cross  temper  upon  you ;  therefore  I  avoided  you." 


SARACINESCA.  45 

Donna  Tullia  eyed  him  attentively.  When  she  an 
swered  she  drew  in  her  small  red  lips  with  an  air  of 
annoyance. 

"  You  look  as  though  you  were  in  bad  humour,"  she 
answered.  "  I  am  sorry  I  disturbed  you.  It  is  better  to 
leave  sleeping  dogs  alone,  as  the  proverb  says." 

"  I  have  not  snapped  yet/'  said  Giovanni.  "  I  am  not 
dangerous,  I  assure  you." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  you,"  replied  his 
companion,  with  a  little  scorn.  "  Do  not  flatter  yourself 
your  little  humours  frighten  me.  I  suppose  you  intend 
to  follow  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Saracinesca,  shortly ;  he  was  beginning 
to  weary  of  Donna  Tullia7  s  manner  of  taking  him  to  task. 

"You  had  much  better  come  with  us,  and  leave  the 
poor  foxes  alone.  Valdarno  is  going  to  drive  us  round  by 
the  cross-roads  to  the  Capannelle.  We  will  have  a  picnic 
lunch,  and  be  home  before  three  o'clock." 

"  Thanks  very  much.  I  cannot  let  my  horse  shirk  his 
work.  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me " 

"  Again  ?  "  exclaimed  Donna  Tullia.  "  You  are  always 
making  excuses."  Then  she  suddenly  changed  her  tone, 
and  looked  down.  "  I  wish  you  would  come  with  us,"  she 
said,  gently.  "  It  is  not  often  I  ask  you  to  do  anything." 

Giovanni  looked  at  her  quickly.  He  knew  that  Donna 
Tullia  wished  to  marry  him ;  he  even  suspected  that  his 
father  had  discussed  the  matter  with  her — no  uncommon 
occurrence  when  a  marriage  has  to  be  arranged  with  a 
widow.  But  he  did  not  know  that  Donna  Tullia  was  in 
love  with  him  in  her  own  odd  fashion.  He  looked  at  her, 
and  he  saw  that  as  she  spoke  there  were  tears  of  vexation 
in  her  bold  blue  eyes.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  but  nat 
ural  courtesy  won  the  day. 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  he  said,  quietly.  A  blush  of 
pleasure  rose  to  Madame  Mayer's  pink  cheeks  ;  she  felt  she 
had  made  a  point,  but  she  was  not  willing  to  show  her 
satisfaction. 

"  You  say  it  as  though  you  were  conferring  a  favour/' 

Vol.  10—3 


46  SARACINESCA. 

she  said,  with,  a  show  of  annoyance,  which  was  belied  by 
the  happy  expression  of  her  face. 

"  Pardon  me ;  I  myself  am  the  favoured  person,"  replied 
Giovanni,  mechanically.  He  had  yielded  because  he  did 
not  know  how  to  refuse ;  but  he  already  regretted  it,  and 
would  have  given  much  to  escape  from  the  party. 

"You  do  not  look  as  though  you  believed  it,"  said 
Donna  Tullia,  eyeing  him  critically.  "  If  you  are  going 
to  be  disagreeable,  I  release  you."  She  said  this  well 
knowing,  the  while,  that  he  would  not  accept  of  his 
liberty. 

"  If  you  are  so  ready  to  release  me,  as  you  call  it,  you 
do  not  really  want  me,"  said  her  companion.  Donna  Tullia 
bit  her  lip,  and  there  was  a  moment's  pause.  "  If  you  will 
excuse  me  a  moment  I  will  send  my  horse  home — I  will 
join  you  at  once." 

"  There  is  your  horse — right  before  us,"  said  Madame 
Mayer.  Even  that  short  respite  was  not  allowed  him,  and 
she  waited  while  Don  Giovanni  ordered  the  astonished 
groom  to  take  his  hunter  for  an  hour's  exercise  in  a 
direction  where  he  would  not  fall  in  with  the  hounds. 

"  I  did  not  believe  you  would  really  do  it,"  said  Donna 
Tullia,  as  the  two  turned  and  sauntered  back  towards  the 
carriages.  Most  of  the  men  who  meant  to  follow  had 
already  mounted,  and  the  little  crowd  had  thinned  con 
siderably.  But  while  they  had  been  talking  another 
carriage  had  driven  into  the  field,  and  had  halted  a 
few  yards  from  Valdarno's  drag.  Astrardente  had  taken 
it  into  his  head  to  come  to  the  meet  with  his  wife,  and 
they  had  arrived  late.  Astrardente  always  arrived  a  little 
late,  on  principle.  As  Giovanni  and  Donna  Tullia  came 
back  to  their  drag,  they  suddenly  found  themselves  face 
to  face  with  the  Duchessa  and  her  husband.  It  did  not 
surprise  Corona  to  see  Giovanni  walking  with  the  woman 
he  did  not  intend  to  marry,  but  it  seemed  to  give  the  old 
Duke  undisguised  pleasure. 

"Do  you  see,  Corona,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it !  It  is 
just  as  I  told  you,"  exclaimed  the  aged  dandy,  in  a  voice 


8ARACINESCA.  47 

so  audible  that  Giovanni  frowned  and  Donna  Tullia  blushed 
slightly.  Both  of  them  bowed  as  they  passed  the  carriage. 
Don  Giovanni  looked  straight  into  Corona's  face  as  he  took 
off  his  hat.  He  might  very  well  have  made  her  a  little 
sign,  the  smallest  gesture,  imperceptible  to  Donna  Tullia, 
whereby  he  could  have  given  her  the  idea  that  his  posi 
tion  was  involuntary.  But  Don  Giovanni  was  a  gentle 
man,  and  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind;  he  bowed  and 
looked  calmly  at  the  woman  he  loved  as  he  passed  by. 
Astrardente  watched  him  keenly,  and  as  he  noticed  the 
indifference  of  Saracinesca's  look,  he  gave  a  curious  little 
snuffling  snort  that  was  peculiar  to  him.  He  could  have 
sworn  that  neither  his  wife  nor  Giovanni  had  shown  the 
smallest  interest  in  each  other.  He  was  satisfied.  His 
wife  was  above  suspicion,  as  he  always  said ;  but  he  was 
an  old  man,  and  had  seen  the  world,  and  he  knew  that 
however  implicitly  he  might  trust  the  noble  woman  who 
had  sacrificed  her  youth  to  his  old  age,  it  was  not  be 
yond  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  she  might  become 
innocently  interested,  even  unawares,  in  some  younger 
man — in  some  such  man  as  Giovanni  Saracinesca — and 
he  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  watch  her.  His  little 
snort,  however,  was  indicative  of  satisfaction.  Corona 
had  not  winced  at  the  mention  of  the  marriage,  and  had 
nodded  with  the  greatest  unconcern  to  the  man  as  he 
passed. 

"  Ah,  Donna  Tullia ! "  he  'cried,  as  he  returned  their 
greeting,  "  you  are  preventing  Don  Giovanni  from  mount 
ing  ;  the  riders  will  be  off  in  a  moment." 

Being  thus  directly  addressed,  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  stop  and  exchange  a  few  words.  The  Du- 
chessa  was  on  the  side  nearest  to  the  pair  as  they  passed, 
and  her  husband  rose  and  sat  opposite  her,  so  as  to  talk 
more  at  his  ease.  There  were  renewed  greetings  on 
both  sides,  and  Giovanni  naturally  found  himself  talking 
to  Corona,  while  her  husband  and  Donna  Tullia  conversed 
together. 

"What  man  could   think   of  hunting  when  he  could 


48  SAKACINESCA. 

be  talking  to  you  instead  ?  "  said  old  Astrardente,  whose 
painted  face  adjusted  itself  in  a  sort  of  leer  tha,t  had  once 
been  a  winning  smile.  Every  one  knew  he  painted,  his 
teeth  were  a  miracle  of  American  dentistry,  and  his  wig 
had  deceived  a  great  portrait-painter.  The  padding  in 
his  clothes  was  disposed  with  cunning  wisdom,  and  in 
public  he  rarely  removed  the  gloves  from  his  small  hands. 
Donna  Tullia  laughed  at  what  he  said. 

"You  should  teach  Don  Giovanni  to  make  pretty 
speeches,"  she  said.  "He  is  as  surly  as  a  wolf  this 
morning." 

"  I  should  think  a  man  in  his  position  would  not  need 
much  teaching  in  order  to  be  gallant  to  you,"  replied  the 
old  dandy,  with  a  knowing  look.  Then  lowering  his 
voice,  he  added  confidentially,  "  I  hope  that  before  very 
long  I  may  be  allowed  to  congrat " 

"  I  have  prevailed  upon  him  to  give  up  following  the 
hounds  to-day,"  interrupted  Donna  Tullia,  quickly.  She 
spoke  loud  enough  to  be  noticed  by  Corona.  "He  is 
coming  with  us  to  picnic  at  the  Capannelle  instead." 

Giovanni  could  not  help  glancing  quickly  at  Corona. 
She  smiled  faintly,  and  her  face  betrayed  no  emotion. 

"  I  daresay  it  will  be  very  pleasant,"  she  said  gently, 
looking  far  out  over  the  Campagna.  In  the  next  field  the 
pack  was  moving  away,  followed  at  a  little  distance  by  a 
score  of  riders  in  pink ;  one  or  two  men  who  had  stayed 
behind  in  conversation,  mounted  hastily  and  rode  after  the 
hunt ;  some  of  the  carriages  turned  out  of  the  field  and 
began  to  follow  slowly  along  the  road,  in  hopes  of  seeing 
the  hounds  throw  off ;  the  party  who  were  going  with  Val- 
darno  gathered  about  the  drag,  waiting  for  Donna  Tullia ; 
the  grooms  who  were  left  behind  congregated  around  the 
men  who  sold  boiled  beans  and  salad;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  meet  had  practically  dispersed. 

"  Why  will  you  not  join  us,  Duchessa  ?  "  asked  Madame 
Mayer.  "  There  is  lunch  enough  for  everybody,  and  the 
more  people  we  are  the  pleasanter  it  will  be."  Donna 
Tullia  made  her  suggestion  with  her  usual  frank  manner, 


SAKACINESCA.  49 

fixing  her  blue  eyes  upon  Corona  as  she  spoke.  There  was 
every  appearance  of  cordiality  in  the  invitation;  but  Donna 
Tullia  knew  well  enough  that  there  was  a  sting  in  her 
words,  or  at  all  events  that  she  meant  there  should  be. 
Corona,  however,  glanced  quietly  at  her  husband,  and  then 
courteously  refused. 

"  You  are  most  kind,"  she  said,  "  but  I  fear  we  cannot 
join  you  to-day.  We  are  very  regular  people,"  she  ex 
plained,  with  a  slight  smile,  "and  we  are  not  prepared  to 
go  to-day.  Many  thanks  j  I  wish  we  could  accept  your 
kind  invitation." 

"Well,  I  am  sorry  you  will  not  come,"  said  Donna 
Tullia,  with  a  rather  hard  laugh.  "  We  mean  to  enjoy 
ourselves  immensely." 

Giovanni  said  nothing.  There  was  only  one  thing  which 
could  have  rendered  the  prospect  of  Madame  Mayer's  pic 
nic  more  disagreeable  to  him  than  it  already  was,  and  that 
would  have  been  the  presence  of  the  Duchessa.  He  knew 
himself  to  be  in  a  thoroughly  false  position  in  consequence 
of  having  yielded  to  Donna  Tullia's  half -tearful  request 
that  he  would  join  the  party.  He  remembered  how  he 
had  spoken  to  Corona  on  the  previous  evening,  assuring 
her  that  he  would  not  marry  Madame  Mayer.  Corona 
knew  nothing  of  the  change  his  plans  had  undergone  dur 
ing  the  stormy  interview  he  had  had  with  his  father ;  he 
longed,  indeed,  to  be  able  to  make  the  Duchessa  under 
stand,  but  any  attempt  at  explanation  would  be  wholly 
impossible.  Corona  would  think  he  was  inconsistent,  or 
at  least  that  he  was  willing  to  flirt  with  the  gay  widow, 
while  determined  not  to  marry  her.  He  reflected  that  it 
was  part  of  his  self-condemnation  that  he  should  appear 
unfavourably  to  the  woman  he  loved,  and  whom  he  was 
determined  to  renounce ;  but  he  realised  for  the  first  time 
how  bitter  it  would  be  to  stand  thus  always  in  the  ap 
pearance  of  weakness  and  self-contradiction  in  the  eyes 
of  the  only  human  being  whose  good  opinion  he  coveted, 
and  for  whose  dear  sake  he  was  willing  to  do  all  things. 
As  he  stood  by  her,  his  hand  rested  upon  the  side  of  the 


50  SARACINESCA. 

carriage,  and  he  stared  blankly  at  the  distant  hounds  and 
the  retreating  riders. 

"  Come,  Don  Giovanni,  we  must  be  going,"  said  Donna 
Tullia.  "What  in  the  world  are  you  thinking  of?  You 
look  as  though  you  had  been  turned  into  a  statue  ! " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  returned  Saracinesca,  suddenly 
called  back  from  the  absorbing  train  of  his  unpleasant 
thoughts.  "  Good-bye,  Duchessa ;  good-bye,  Astrardente 
— a  pleasant  drive  to  you." 

"  You  will  always  regret  not  having  come,  you  know," 
cried  Madame  Mayer,  shaking  hands  with  both  the  oc 
cupants  of  the  carriage.  "We  shall  probably  end  by 
driving  to  Albano,  and  staying  all  night — just  fancy! 
Immense  fun — not  even  a  comb  in  the  whole  party! 
Good-bye.  I  suppose  we  shall  all  meet  to-night — that 
is,  if  we  ever  come  back  to  Rome  at  all.  Come  along, 
Giovanni,"  she  said,  familiarly  dropping  the  prefix  from 
his  name.  After  all,  he  was  a  sort  of  cousin,  and  people 
in  Rome  are  very  apt  to  call  each  other  by  their  Chris 
tian  names.  But  Donna  Tullia  knew  what  she  was 
about ;  she  knew  that  Corona  d' Astrardente  could  never, 
under  any  circumstances  whatever,  call  Saracinesca  plain 
"  Giovanni."  But  she  had  not  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
that  anything  she  said  produced  any  change  in  Corona's 
proud  dark  face ;  she  seemed  of  no  more  importance  in 
the  Duchessa's  eyes  than  if  she  had  been  a  fly  buzzing 
in  the  sunshine. 

So  Giovanni  and  Madame  Mayer  joined  their  noisy 
party,  and  began  to  climb  into  their  places  upon  the 
drag ;  but  before  they  were  prepared  to  start,  the  Astrar 
dente  carriage  turned  and  drove  rapidly  out  of  the  field. 
The  laughter  and  loud  talking  came  to  Corona's  ears, 
growing  fainter  and  more  distant  every  second,  and  the 
sound  was  very  cruel  to  her ;  but  she  set  her  strong  brave 
lips  together,  and  leaned  back,  adjusting  the  blanket  over 
her  old  husband's  knees  with  one  hand,  and  shading  the 
sun  from  her  eyes  with  the  parasol  she  held  in  the  other. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear;  you  are  an  angel  of  thought- 


SAKACINESCA.  51 

fulness,"  said  the  old  dandy,  stroking  his  wife's  hand. 
"What  a  singularly  vulgar  woman  Madame  Mayer  is! 
And  yet  she  has  a  certain  little  chic  of  her  own." 

Corona  did  not  withdraw  her  fingers  from  her  husband's 
caress.  She  was  used  to  it.  After  all,  he  was  kind  to  her 
in  his  way.  It  would  have  been  absurd  to  have  been  jeal 
ous  of  the  grossly  nattering  speeches  he  made  to  other 
women ;  and  indeed  he  was  as  fond  of  turning  compliments 
to  his  wife  as  to  any  one.  It  was  a  singular  relation  that 
had  grown  up  between  the  old  man  and  the  young  girl  he 
had  married.  Had  he  been  less  thoroughly  a  man  of  the 
world,  or  had  Corona  been  less  entirely  honest  and  loyal 
and  self-sacrificing,  there  would  have  been  small  peace  in 
their  wedlock.  But  Astrardente,  decayed  roue  and  worn- 
out  dandy  as  he  was,  was  in  love  with  his  wife ;  and  she, 
in  all  the  young  magnificence  of  her  beauty,  submitted  to 
be  loved  by  him,  because  she  had  promised  that  she  would 
do  so,  and  because,  having  sworn,  she  regarded  the  break 
ing  of  her  faith  by  the  smallest  act  of  unkindness  as  a 
tning  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility.  It  had  been  a 
terrible  blow  to  her  to  discover  that  she  cared  for  Don 
Giovanni  even  in  the  way  she  believed  she  did,  as  a  man 
whose  society  she  preferred  to  that  of  other  men,  and  whose 
face  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  see.  She,  too,  had  spent  a 
sleepless  night ;  and  when  she  had  risen  in  the  morning, 
she  had  determined  to  forget  Giovanni,  and  if  she  could 
not  forget  him,  she  had  sworn  that  more  than  ever  she 
would  be  all  things  'to  her  husband. 

She  wondered  now,  as  Giovanni  had  known  she  would, 
why  he  had  suddenly  thrown  over  his  day's  hunting  in 
order  to  spend  his  time  with  Donna  Tullia ;  but  she  would 
not  acknowledge,  even  to  herself,  that  the  dull  pain  she 
felt  near  her  heart,  and  that  seemed  to  oppress  her  breath 
ing,  bore  any  relation  to  the  scene  she  had  just  witnessed. 
She  shut  her  lips  tightly,  and  arranged  the  blanket  for 
her  husband. 

"  Madame  Mayer  is  vulgar,"  she  answered.  "  I  suppose 
she  cannot  help  it." 


52  SAEACINESCA. 

"  Women  can  always  help  being  vulgar/'  returned 
Astrardente.  "  I  believe  she  learned  it  from  her  husband. 
Women  are  not  naturally  like  that.  Nevertheless  she  is 
an  excellent  match  for  Giovanni  Saracinesca.  Rich,  by 
millions.  Undeniably  handsome,  gay — well,  rather  too 
gay ;  but  Giovanni  is  so  serious  that  the  contrast  will  be 
to  their  mutual  advantage." 

Corona  was  silent.  There  was  nothing  the  old  man 
disliked  so  much  as  silence. 

"  Why  do  you  not  answer  me  ?  "  he  asked,  rather  petu 
lantly. 

"  I  do  not  know — I  was  thinking,"  said  Corona,  simply. 
"  I  do  not  see  that  it  is  a  great  match  after  all,  for  the 
last  of  the  Saracinesca." 

"  You  think  she  will  lead  him  a  terrible  dance,  I  dare 
say,"  returned  the  old  man.  "  She  is  gay — very  gay ;  and 
Giovanni  is  very,  very  solemn." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  she  was  too  gay.  I  only  think 
that  Saracinesca  might  marry,  for  instance,  the  Eocca 
girl.  Why  should  he  take  a  widow  ?  " 

"  Such  a  young  widow.  Old  Mayer  was  as  decrepit  as 
any  old  statue  in  a  museum.  He  was  paralysed  in  one 
arm,  and  gouty — gouty,  my  dear ;  you  do  not  know  how 
gouty  he  was."  The  old  fellow  grinned  scornfully ;  he 
had  never  had  the  gout.  "  Donna  Tullia  is  a  very  young 
widow.  Besides,  think  of  the  fortune.  It  would  break 
old  Saracinesca's  heart  to  let  so  much  money  go  out  of 
the  family.  He  is  a  miserly  old  wretch,  Saracinesca ! " 

"  I  never  heard  that,"  said  Corona. 

"  Oh,  there  are  many  things  in  Rome  that  one  never 
hears,  and  that  is  one  of  them.  I  hate  avarice — it  is  so 
extremely  vulgar." 

Indeed  Astrardente  was  not  himself  avaricious,  though 
he  had  all  his  life  known  how  to  protect  his  interests. 
He  loved  money,  but  he  loved  also  to  spend  it,  especially 
in  such  a  way  as  to  make  a  great  show  with  it.  It  was 
not  true,  however,  that  Saracinesca  was  miserly.  He 
spent  a  large  income  without  the  smallest  ostentation. 


SARACINESCA.  53 

"Keally,  I  should  hardly  call  Prince  Saracinesca  a 
miser,"  said  Corona.  "  I  cannot  imagine,  from  what  I 
know  of  him,  why  he  should  be  so  anxious  to  get  Madame 
Mayer's  fortune ;  but  I  do  not  think  it  is  out  of  mere 
greediness." 

"  Then  I  do  not  know  what  you  can  call  it,"  returned 
her  husband,  sharply.  "  They  have  always  had  that  dis 
mal  black  melancholy  in  that  family — that  detestable  love 
of  secretly  piling  up  money,  while  their  faces  are  as  grave 
and  sour  as  any  Jew's  in  the  Ghetto." 

Corona  glanced  at  her  husband,  and  smiled  faintly  as 
she  looked  at  his  thin  old  features,  where  the  lights  and 
shadows  were  touched  in  with  delicate  colour  more  art 
fully  than  any  actress's,  superficially  concealing  the  lines 
traced  by  years  of  affectation  and  refined  egotism ;  and 
she  thought  of  Giovanni's  strong  manly  face,  passionate 
indeed,  but  noble  and  bold.  A  moment  later  she  reso 
lutely  put  the  comparison  out  of  her  mind,  and  finding 
that  her  husband  was  inclined  to  abuse  the  Saracinesca, 
she  tried  to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  a  great  ball  at  the  Frangipani's," 
she  said.  "  We  will  go,  of  course  ?  "  she  added,  inter 
rogatively. 

"Of  course.  I  would  not  miss  it  for  all  the  world. 
There  has  not  been  such  a  ball  for  years  as  that  will  be. 
Do  I  ever  miss  an  opportunity  of  enjoying  myself — I 
mean,  of  letting  you  enjoy  yourself  ?  " 

"  No,  you  are  very  good,"  said  Corona,  gently.  "  Indeed 
I  sometimes  think  you  give  yourself  trouble  about  going 
out  on  my  account.  Really,  I  am  not  so  greedy  of  society. 
I  would  often  gladly  stay  at  home  if  you  wished  it." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  past  enjoying  the  world,  then  ?  " 
asked  the  old  man,  sourly. 

"  No  indeed,"  replied  Corona,  patiently.  "  Why  should 
I  think  that  ?  I  see  how  much  you  like  going  out." 

"  Of  course  I  like  it.  A  rational  man  in  the  prime  of 
life  always  likes  to  see  his  fellow-creatures.  Why  should 
not  I  ?  " 


54  SARACINESCA. 

The  Duchessa  did  not  smile.  She  was  used  to  hearing 
her  aged  husband  speak  of  himself  as  young.  It  was  a 
harmless  fancy. 

"I  think  it  is  quite  natural/'  she  said. 

"What  I  cannot  understand,"  said  Astrardente,  muf 
fling  his  thin  throat  more  closely  against  the  keen  bright 
tramontanes  wind,  "  is  that  such  old  fellows  as  Saracinesca 
should  still  want  to  play  a  part  in  the  world." 

Saracinesca  was  younger  than  Astrardente,  and  his  iron 
constitution  bade  fair  to  outlast  another  generation,  in 
spite  of  his  white  hair.  * 

"You  do  not  seem  to  be  in  a  good  humour  with  Sara 
cinesca  to-day,"  remarked  Corona,  by  way  of  answer. 

"  Why  do  you  defend  him  ?  "  asked  her  husband,  in  a 
new  fit  of  irritation.  "  He  jars  on  my  nerves,  the  sour 
old  creature ! " 

"  I  fancy  all  Borne  will  go  to  the  Frangipani  ball," 
began  Corona  again,  without  heeding  the  old  man's  petu 
lance. 

"  You  seem  to  be  interested  in  it,"  returned  Astrardente. 

Corona  was  silent ;  it  was  her  only  weapon  when  he 
"became  petulant.  He  hated  silence,  and  generally  re 
turned  to  the  conversation  with  more  suavity.  Perhaps, 
in  his  great  experience,  he  really  appreciated  his  wife's 
wonderful  patience  with  his  moods,  and  it  is  certain  that 
he  was  exceedingly  fond  of  her. 

"You  must  have  a  new  gown,  my  dear,"  he  said  pres 
ently,  in  a  conciliatory  tone. 

His  wife  passed  for  the  best-dressed  woman  in  Koine,  as 
she  was  undeniably  the  most  remarkable  in  many  other 
ways.  She  was  not  above  taking  an  interest  in  dress,  and 
her  old  husband  had  an  admirable  taste;  moreover,  he 
took  a  vast  pride  in  her  appearance,  and  if  she  had  looked 
a  whit  less  superior  to  other  women,  his  smiling  boast 
that  she  was  above  suspicion  would  have  lost  some  of 
its  force. 

"  I  hardly  think  it  is  necessary,"  said  Corona ;  "  I  have 
so  many  things,  and  it  will  be  a  great  crowd." 


SARACINESCA.  55 

"  My  dear,  be  economical  of  your  beauty,  but  not  in  your 
adornment  of  it,"  said  the  old  man,  with  one  of  his  engag 
ing  grins.  "  I  desire  that  you  have  a  new  gown  for  this 
ball  which  will  be  remembered  by  every  one  who  goes  to 
it.  You  must  set  about  it  at  once." 

"Well,  that  is  an  easy  request  for  any  woman  to 
grant,"  answered  Corona,  with  a  little  laugh ;  "  though  I 
do  not  believe  my  gown  will  be  remembered  so  long  as 
you  think." 

"  Who  knows  —  who  knows  ? "  said  Astrardente, 
thoughtfully.  "  I  remember  gowns  I  saw  " — he  checked 
himself — "  why,  as  many  as  ten  years  ago  !  "  he  added, 
laughing  in  his  turn,  perhaps  at  nearly  having  said  forty 
for  ten.  "  Gowns,  my  dear,"  he  continued,  "  make  a  pro 
found  impression  upon  men's  minds." 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  said  the  Duchessa,  "  I  do  not 
care  to  impress  men  at  all,  nor  women  either."  She  spoke 
lightly,  pleased  that  the  conversation  should  have  taken 
a  more  pleasant  turn. 

"  Not  even  to  impress  me,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  old  Astrar 
dente,  with  a  leer. 

"  That  is  different,"  answered  Corona,  quietly. 

So  they  talked  upon  the  subject  of  the  gown  and  the 
ball  until  the  carriage  rolled  under  the  archway  of  the 
Astrardente  palace.  But  when  it  was  three  o'clock,  and 
Corona  was  at  liberty  to  go  out  upon  her  usual  round  of 
visits,  she  was  glad  that  she  could  go  alone ;  and  as  she 
sat  among  her  cushions,  driving  from  house  to  house  and 
distributing  cards,  she  had  time  to  think  seriously  of  her 
situation.  It  would  seem  a  light  thing  to  most  wives  of 
aged  husbands  to  have  taken  a  fancy  to  a  man  such  as 
Giovanni  Saracinesca.  But  the  more  Corona  thought  of 
it,  the  more  certain  it  appeared  to  her  that  she  was  com 
mitting  a  great  sin.  It  weighed  heavily  upon  her  mind, 
and  took  from  her  the  innocent  pleasure  she  was  wont  to 
feel  in  driving  in  the  bright  evening  air  in  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese.  It  took  the  colour  from  the  sky,  and  the  softness 
from  the  cushions ;  it  haunted  her  and  made  her  miserably 


56  SAEACINESCA. 

unhappy.  At  every  turn  she  expected  to  see  Giovanni's 
figure  and  face,  and  the  constant  recurrence  of  the  thought 
seemed  to  add  magnitude  to  the  crime  of  which  she  accused 
herself, — the  crime  of  even  thinking  of  any  man  save  her 
old  husband — of  wishing  that  Giovanni  might  not  marry 
Donna  Tullia  after  all. 

"  I  will  go  to  Padre  Filippo,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she 
reached  home. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Valdarno  took  Donna  Tullia  by  his  side  upon  the  front 
seat  of  the  drag ;  and  as  luck  would  have  it,  Giovanni  and 
Del  Ferice  sat  together  behind  them.  Half-a-dozen  other 
men  found  seats  somewhere,  and  among  them  were  the 
melancholy  Spicca,  who  was  a  famous  duellist,  and  a  cer 
tain  Casalverde,  a  man  of  rather  doubtful  reputation.  The 
others  were  members  of  what  Donna  Tullia  called  her 
"  corps  de  ballet."  In  those  days  Donna  Tullia' s  conduct 
was  criticised,  and  she  was  thought  to  be  emancipated,  as 
the  phrase  went.  Old  people  opened  their  eyes  at  the 
spectacle  of  the  gay  young  widow  going  off  into  the  Cani- 
pagna  to  picnic  with  a  party  of  men ;  but  if  any  intimate 
enerny  had  ventured  to  observe  to  her  that  she  was  giving 
occasion  for  gossip,  she  would  have  raised  her  eyebrows, 
explaining  that  they  were  all  just  like  her  brothers,  and 
that  Giovanni  was  indeed  a  sort  of  cousin.  She  would  per 
haps  have  condescended  to  say  that  she  would  not  have 
done  such  a  thing  in  Paris,  but  that  in  dear  old  Rome  one 
was  in  the  bosom  of  one's  family,  and  might  do  anything. 
At  present  she  sat  chatting  with  Yaldarno,  a  tall  and  fair 
young  man,  with  a  weak  mouth  and  a  good-natured  dis 
position:  she  had  secured  Giovanni,  and  though  he  sat 
sullenly  smoking  behind  her,  his  presence  gave  her  satis 
faction.  Del  Ferice's  smooth  face  wore  an  expression  of 
ineffable  calm,  and  his  watery  blue  eyes  gazed  languidly 


SARACINESCA.  57 

on  the  broad  stretch  of  brown  grass  which  bordered  the 
highroad. 

For  some  time  the  drag  bowled  along,  and  Giovanni 
was  left  to  his  own  reflections,  which  were  not  of  a  very 
pleasing  kind.  The  other  men  talked  of  the  chances  of 
luck  with  the  hounds ;  and  Spicca,  who  had  been  a  great 
deal  in  England,  occasionally  put  in  a  remark  not  very 
complimentary  to  the  Roman  hunt.  Del  Ferice  listened 
in  silence,  and  Giovanni  did  not  listen  at  all,  but  buttoned 
his  overcoat  to  the  throat,  half  closed  his  eyes,  and 
smoked  one  cigarette  after  another,  leaning  back  in  his 
seat.  Suddenly  Donna  Tullia's  laugh  was  heard  as  she 
turned  half  round  to  look  at  Valdarno. 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  she  cried.  "  How  soon  ? 
What  a  dance  we  will  lead  them  then ! " 

Del  Ferice  pricked  his  ears  in  the  direction  of  her 
voice,  like  a  terrier  that  suspects  the  presence  of  a  rat. 
Valdarno's  answer  was  inaudible,  but  Donna  Tullia 
ceased  laughing  immediately. 

"  They  are  talking  politics,"  said  Del  Ferice  in  a  low 
voice,  leaning  towards  Giovanni  as  he  spoke.  The  latter 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went  on  smoking.  He  did 
not  care  to  be  drawn  into  a  conversation  with  Del  Ferice. 

Del  Ferice  was  a  man  who  was  suspected  of  revolu 
tionary  sympathies  by  the  authorities  in  Rome,  but  who 
was  not  feared.  He  was  therefore  allowed  to  live  his 
life  much  as  he  pleased,  though  he  was  conscious  from 
time  to  time  that  he  was  watched.  Being  a  man,  how 
ever,  who  under  all  circumstances  pursued  his  own  inter 
ests  with  more  attention  than  he  bestowed  on  those  of 
any  party,  he  did  not  pretend  to  attach  any  importance 
to  the  distinction  of  being  occasionally  followed  by  a 
spy,  as  a  more  foolish  man  might  have  done.  If  he  was 
watched,  he  did  not  care  to  exhibit  himself  to  his  friends 
as  a  martyr,  to  tell  stories  of  the  sbirro  who  sometimes 
dogged  his  footsteps,  nor  to  cry  aloud  that  he  was  un 
justly  persecuted.  He  affected  a  character  above  suspi 
cion,  and  rarely  allowed  himself  to  express  an  opinion. 


58  SABACINESCA. 

He  was  no  propagator  of  new  doctrines;  that  was  too 
dangerous  a  trade  for  one  of  his  temper.  But  he  foresaw 
changes  to  come,  and  he  determined  that  he  would  profit 
by  them.  He  had  little  to  lose,  but  he  had  everything  to 
gain ;  and  being  a  patient  man,  he  resolved  to  gain  all 
he  could  by  circumspection — in  other  words,  by  acting 
according  to  his  nature,  rather  than  by  risking  himself 
in  a  bold  course  of  action  for  which  he  was  wholly  un- 
suited.  He  was  too  wise  to  attempt  wholly  to  deceive 
the  authorities,  knowing  well  that  they  were  not  easily 
deceived;  and  he  accordingly  steered  a  middle  course, 
constantly  speaking  in  favour  of  progress,  of  popular 
education,  and  of  freedom  of  the  press,  but  at  the  same 
time  loudly  proclaiming  that  all  these  things — that  every 
benefit  of  civilisation,  in  fact — could  be  obtained  without 
the  slightest  change  in  the  form  of  government.  He 
thus  asserted  his  loyalty  to  the  temporal  power  while 
affecting  a  belief  in  the  possibility  of  useful  reforms,  and 
the  position  he  thus  acquired  exactly  suited  his  own 
ends;  for  he  attracted  to  himself  a  certain  amount  of 
suspicion  on  account  of  his  progressist  professions,  and 
then  disarmed  that  suspicion  by  exhibiting  a  serene  in 
difference  to  the  espionage  of  which  he  was  the  object. 
The  consequence  was,  that  at  the  very  time  when  he  was 
most  deeply  implicated  in  much  more  serious  matters — 
of  which  the  object  was  invariably  his  own  ultimate  profit 
— at  the  time  when  he  was  receiving  money  for  informa 
tion  he  was  able  to  obtain  through  his  social  position,  he 
was  regarded  by  the  authorities,  and  by  most  of  his 
acquaintances,  as  a  harmless  man,  who  might  indeed 
injure  himself  by  his  foolish  doctrines  of  progress,  but 
who  certainly  could  not  injure  any  one  else.  Few  guessed 
that  his  zealous  attention  to  social  duties,  his  occasional 
bursts  of  enthusiasm  for  liberal  education  and  a  free 
press,  were  but  parts  of  his  machinery  for  making  money 
out  of  politics.  He  was  so  modest,  so  unostentatious, 
that  no  one  suspected  that  the  mainspring  of  his  exist- 
ence  was  the  desire  for  money. 


SAKACINESCA.  59 

But,  like  many  intelligent  and  bad  men,  Del  Ferice  had 
a  weakness  which  was  gradually  gaining  upon  him  and 
growing  in  force,  and  which  was  destined  to  hasten  the 
course  of  the  events  which  he  had  planned  for  himself. 
It  is  an  extraordinary  peculiarity  in  unbelievers  that 
they  are  often  more  subject  to  petty  superstitions  than 
other  men ;  and  similarly,  it  often  happens  that  the  most 
cynical  and  coldly  calculating  of  conspirators,  who  be 
lieve  themselves  proof  against  all  outward  influences, 
yield  to  some  feeling  of  nervous  dislike  for  an  individual 
who  has  never  harmed  them,  and  are  led  on  from  dislike 
to  hatred,  until  their  soberest  actions  take  colour  from 
what  in  its  earliest  beginnings  was  nothing  more  than  a 
senseless  prejudice.  Del  Ferice's  weakness  was  his 
unaccountable  detestation  of  Giovanni  Saracinesca ;  and 
he  had  so  far  suffered  this  abhorrence  of  the  man  to  dom 
inate  his  existence,  that  it  had  come  to  be  one  of  his 
chiefest  delights  in  life  to  thwart  Giovanni  wherever 
he  could.  How  it  had  begun,  or  when,  he  no  longer 
knew  nor  cared.  He  had  perhaps  thought  Giovanni 
treated  him  superciliously,  or  even  despised  him;  and 
his  antagonism  being  roused  by  some  fancied  slight,  he 
had  shown  a  petty  resentment,  which,  again,  Saracinesca 
had  treated  with  cold  indifference.  Little  by  little  his 
fancied  grievance  had  acquired  great  proportions  in  his 
own  estimation,  and  he  had  learned  to  hate  Giovanni 
more  than  any  man  living.  At  first  it  might  have 
seemed  an  easy  matter  to  ruin  his  adversary,  or,  at  all 
event,  to  cause  him  great  and  serious  injury;  and  but 
for  that  very  indifference  which  Del  Ferice  so  resented, 
his  attempts  might  have  been  successful. 

Giovanni  belonged  to  a  family  who  from  the  earliest 
times  had  been  at  swords-drawn  with  the  Government. 
Their  property  had  been  more  than  once  confiscated  by  the 
popes,  had  been  seized  again  by  force  of  arms,  and  had 
been  ultimately  left  to  them  for  the  mere  sake  of  peace. 
They  seem  to  have  quarrelled  with  everybody  on  every 
conceivable  pretext,  and  to  have  generally  got  the  best  of 


60  SARACINESCA. 

the  struggle.  No  pope  had  ever  reckoned  upon  the 
friendship  of  Casa  Saracinesca.  For  generations  they  had 
headed  the  opposition  whenever  there  was  one,  and  had 
plotted  to  form  one  when  there  was  none  ready  to  their 
hands.  It  seemed  to  Del  Ferice  that  in  the  stirring 
times  that  followed  the  annexation  of  Naples  to  the 
Italian  crown,  when  all  Europe  was  watching  the  growth 
of  the  new  Power,  it  should  be  an  easy  matter  to  draw  a 
Saracinesca  into  any  scheme  for  the  subversion  of  a 
Government  against  which  so  many  generations  of  Saraci 
nesca  had  plotted  and  fought.  To  involve  Giovanni  in 
some  Liberal  conspiracy,  and  then  by  betraying  him  to 
cause  him  to  be  imprisoned  or  exiled  from  Rome,  was  a 
plan  which  pleased  Del  Ferice,  and  which  he  desired 
earnestly  to  put  into  execution.  He  had  often  tried  to 
lead  his  enemy  into  conversation,  repressing  and  hiding 
his  dislike  for  the  sake  of  his  end ; .  but  at  the  first  men 
tion  of  political  subjects  Giovanni  became  impenetrable, 
shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  assumed  an  air  of  the  utmost 
indifference.  No  paradox  could  draw  him  into  argument, 
no  flattery  could  loose  his  tongue.  Indeed  those  were 
times  when  men  hesitated  to  express  an  opinion,  not  only 
because  any  opinion  they  might  express  was  liable  to  be 
exaggerated  and  distorted  by  willing  enemies — a  consid 
eration  which  would  not  have  greatly  intimidated  Gio 
vanni  Saracinesca — but  also  because  it  was  impossible 
for  the  wisest  man  to  form  any  satisfactory  judgment 
upon  the  course  of  events.  It  was  clear  to  every  one 
that  ever  since  1848  the  temporal  power  had  been  sus 
tained  by  France ;  and  though  no  one  in  1865  foresaw  the 
downfall  of  the  Second  Empire,  no  one  saw  any  reason 
for  supposing  that  the  military  protectorate  of  Louis 
Napoleon  in  Eome  could  last  for  ever :  what  would  be 
likely  to  occur  if  that  protection  were  withdrawn  was 
indeed  a  matter  of  doubt,  but  was  not  looked  upon  by  the 
Government  as  a  legitimate  matter  for  speculation. 

Del  Ferice,  however,  did  not  desist  from  his  attempts 
to  make  Giovanni  speak  out  his  mind,  and  whenever  an 


SABACINESCA.  61 

opportunity  offered,  tried  to  draw  him  into  conversation. 
He  was  destined  on  the  present  occasion  to  meet  with 
greater  success  than  had  hitherto  attended  his  efforts. 
The  picnic  was  noisy,  and  Giovanni  was  in  a  bad  humour ; 
he  did  not  care  for  Donna  Tullia's  glances,  nor  for  the  re 
marks  she  constantly  levelled  at  him ;  still  less  was  he 
amused  by  the  shallow  gaiety  of  her  party  of  admirers, 
tempered  as  their  talk  was  by  the  occasional  tonic  of 
some  outrageous  cynicism  from  the  melancholy  Spicca. 
Del  Ferice  smiled,  and  talked,  and  smiled  again,  seeking 
to  natter  and  please  Donna  Tullia,  as  was  his  wont.  By- 
and-by  the  clear  north  wind  and  the  bright  sun  dried 
the  ground,  and  Madame  Mayer  proposed  that  the  party 
should  walk  a  little  on  the  road  towards  Rome — a  proposal 
of  such  startling  originality  that  it  was  carried  by  accla 
mation.  Donna  Tullia  wanted  to  walk  with  Giovanni ;  but 
on  pretence  of  having  left  something  upon  the  drag,  he 
gave  Valdarno  time  to  take  his  place.  When  Giovanni 
began  to  follow  the  rest,  he  found  that  Del  Ferice  had 
lagged  behind,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  him. 

Giovanni  was  in  a  bad  humour  that  day.  He  had  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  persuaded  into  joining  in  a  species  of 
amusement  for  which  he  cared  nothing,  by  a  mere  word 
from  a  woman  for  whom  he  cared  less,  but  whom  he  had 
half  determined  to  marry,  and  who  had  wholly  deter 
mined  to  marry  him.  He,  who  hated  vacillation,  had 
been  dangling  for  four-and-twenty  hours  like  a  pendu 
lum,  or,  as  he  said  to  himself,  like  an  ass  between  two 
bundles  of  hay.  At  one  moment  he  meant  to  marry 
Donna  Tullia,  and  at  another  he  loathed  the  thought ; 
now  he  felt  that  he  would  make  any  sacrifice  to  rid  the 
Duchessa  d'Astrardente  of  himself,  and  now  again  he 
felt  how  futile  such  a  sacrifice  would  be.  He  was 
ashamed  in  his  heart,  for  he  was  no  boy  of  twenty  to  be 
swayed  by  a  woman's  look  or  a  fit  of  Quixotism ;  he  was 
a  strong  grown  man  who  had  seen  the  world.  He  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  supposing  his  impulses  to  be  good, 
and  of  following  them  naturally  without  much  thought; 


62  SARACINESCA. 

it  seemed  desperately  perplexing  to  be  forced  into  an 
analysis  of  those  impulses  in  order  to  decide  what  he 
should  do.  He  was  in  a  thoroughly  bad  humour,  and 
Del  Ferice  guessed  that  if  Giovanni  could  ever  be  in 
duced  to  speak  out,  it  must  be  when  his  temper  was  not 
under  control.  In  Rome,  in  the  club — there  was  only 
one  club  in  those  days — in  society,  Ugo  never  got  a 
chance  to  talk  to  his  enemy  ;  but  here  upon  the  Appian 
Way,  with  the  broad  Cainpagna  stretching  away  to  right 
and  left  and  rear,  while  the  remainder  of  the  party 
walked  three  hundred  yards  in  front,  and  Giovanni 
showed  an  evident  reluctance  to  join  them,  it  would  go 
hard  indeed  if  he  could  not  be  led  into  conversation. 

"  I  should  think,"  Del  Ferice  began,  "  that  if  you  had 
your  choice,  you  would  walk  anywhere  rather  than  here." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  carelessly.  "  It  is  a  very 
good  road." 

"  I  should  think  that  our  Roman  Campagna  would  be 
anything  but  a  source  of  satisfaction  to  its  possessors — 
like  yourself,"  answered  Del  Ferice. 

"  It  is  a  very  good  grazing  ground." 

"  It  might  be  something  better.  When  one  thinks  that 
in  ancient  times  it  was  a  vast  series  of  villas " 

"  The  conditions  were  very  different.  We  do  not  live 
in  ancient  times,"  returned  Giovanni,  drily. 

"Ah,  the  conditions!"  ejaculated  Del  Ferice,  with  a 
suave  sigh.  "  Surely  the  conditions  depend  on  man — not 
on  nature.  What  our  proud  forefathers  accomplished  by 
law  and  energy,  we  could,  we  can  accomplish,  if  we 
restore  law  and  energy  in  our  midst." 

"You  are  entirely  mistaken,"  answered  Saracinesca. 
"It  would  take  five  times  the  energy  of  the  ancient 
Romans  to  turn  the  Campagna  into  a  garden,  or  even 
into  a  fertile  productive  region.  No  one  is  five  times  as 
energetic  as  the  ancients.  As  for  the  laws,  they  do  well 
enough." 

Del  Ferice  was  delighted.  For  the  first  time,  Giovanni 
seemed  inclined  to  enter  upon  an  argument  with  him. 


SARACINESCA.  63 

"  Why  are  the  conditions  so  different  ?  I  do  not 
see.  Here  is  the  same  undulating  country,  the  same  cli 
mate " 

"And  twice  as  much  water,"  interrupted  Giovanni. 
"  You  forget  that  the  Campagna  is  very  low,  and  that  the 
rivers  in  it  have  risen  very  much.  There  are  parts  of 
ancient  Eome  now  laid  bare  which  lie  below  the  present 
water-mark  of  the  Tiber.  If  the  city  were  built  upon  its 
old  level,  much  of  it  would  be  constantly  flooded.  The 
rivers  have  risen  and  have  swamped  the  country.  Do 
you  think  any  amount  of  law  or  energy  could  drain  this 
fever-stricken  plain  into  the  sea  ?  I  do  not.  Do  you  think 
that  if  I  could  be  persuaded  that  the  land  could  be  im 
proved  into  fertility  I  would  hesitate,  at  any  expenditure 
in  my  power,  to  reclaim  the  miles  of  desert  my  father 
and  I  own  here  ?  The  plain  is  a  series  of  swamps  and 
stone  quarries.  In  one  place  you  find  the  rock  a  foot 
below  the  surface,  and  the  soil  burns  up  in  summer ; 
a  hundred  yards  farther  you  find  a  bog  hundreds  of  feet 
deep,  which  even  in  summer  is  never  dry." 

"But,"  suggested  Del  Ferice,  who  listened  patiently 
enough,  "supposing  the  Government  passed  a  law  forc 
ing  all  of  you  proprietors  to  plant  trees  and  dig  ditches, 
it  would  have  some  effect." 

"  The  law  cannot  force  us  to  sacrifice  men's  lives.  The 
Trappist  monks  at  the  Tre  Fontane  are  trying  it,  and 
dying  by  scores.  Do  you  think  I,  or  any  other  Roman, 
would  send  peasants  to  such  a  place,  or  could  induce 
them  to  go?" 

"  Well,  it  is  one  of  a  great  many  questions  which  will 
be  settled  some  day,"  said  Del  Ferice.  "  You  will  not 
deny  that  there  is  room  for  much  improvement  in  our 
country,  and  that  an  infusion  of  some  progressist  ideas 
would  be  wholesome." 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  you  understand  one  thing  by  progress, 
and  I  understand  quite  another,"  replied  Giovanni,  eyeing 
in  the  bright  distance  the  figures  of  Donna  Tullia  and  her 
friends,  and  regulating  his  pace  so  as  not  to  lessen  the  dis- 


64  SAKACIKESCA. 

tance  which  separated  them  from  him.  He  preferred  talk 
ing  political  economy  with  a  man  he  disliked,  to  being 
obliged  to  make  conversation  for  Madame  Mayer. 

"I  mean  by  progress,  positive  improvement  without 
revolutionary  change,"  explained  Del  Ferice,  using  the 
phrase  he  had  long  since  constructed  as  his  profession  of 
faith  to  the  world.  Giovanni  eyed  him  keenly  for  a 
moment.  He  cared  nothing  for  Ugo  or  his  ideas,  but  he 
suspected  him  of  very  different  principles. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,"  he  said,  civilly,  "  if  I  venture  to 
doubt  whether  you  have  frankly  expressed  your  views.  I 
am  under  the  impression  that  you  really  connect  the  idea  of 
improvement  with  a  very  positive  revolutionary  change." 

Del  Ferice  did  not  wince,  but  he  involuntarily  cast  a 
glance  behind  him.  Those  were  times  when  people  were 
cautious  of  being  overheard.  But  Del  Ferice  knew  his 
man,  and  he  knew  that  the  only  way  in  which  he  could 
continue  the  interview  was  to  accept  the  imputation  as 
though  trusting  implicitly  to  the  discretion  of  his  com 
panion. 

"Will  you  give  me  a  fair  answer  to  a  fair  question?" 
he  asked,  very  gravely. 

"  Let  me  hear  the  question,"  returned  Giovanni,  indif 
ferently.  He  also  knew  his  man,  and  attached  no  more 
belief  to  anything  he  said  than  to  the  chattering  of  a 
parrot.  And  yet  Del  Ferice  had  not  the  reputation  of  a 
liar  in  the  world  at  large. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Ugo.  "  You  are  the  heir  of  a 
family  which  from  immemorial  time  has  opposed  the 
popes.  You  cannot  be  supposed  to  feel  any  kind  of  loyal 
attachment  to  the  temporal  power.  I  do  not  know  whether 
you  individually  would  support  it  or  not.  But  frankly, 
how  would  you  regard  such  a  revolutionary  change  as 
you  suspect  me  of  desiring  ?  " 

"I  have  no  objection  to  telling  you  that.  I  would 
simply  make  the  best  of  it." 

Del  Ferice  laughed  at  the  ambiguous  answer,  affecting 
to  consider  it  as  a  mere  evasion. 


SARACINESCA.  65 

"We  should  all  try  to  do  that,"  he  answered ;  "but  what 
I  mean  to  ask  is,  whether  you  would  personally  take  up 
arms  to  fight  for  the  temporal  power,  or  whether  you 
would  allow  events  to  take  their  course  ?  I  fancy  that 
would  be  the  ultimate  test  of  loyalty." 

"My  instinct  would  certainly  be  to  fight,  whether  fight 
ing  were  of  any  use  or  not.  But  the  propriety  of  fighting 
in  such  a  case  is  a  very  nice  question  of  judgment.  So 
long  as  there  is  anything  to  fight  for,  no  matter  how  hope 
less  the  odds,  a  gentleman  should  go  to  the  front — but  no 
longer.  The  question  must  be  to  decide  the  precise  point 
at  which  the  position  becomes  untenable.  So  long  as 
France  makes  our  quarrels  hers,  every  man  should  give 
his  personal  assistance  to  the  cause ;  but  it  is  absurd  to 
suppose  that  if  we  were  left  alone,  a  handful  of  Komans 
against  a  great  Power,  we  could  do  more,  or  should  do 
more,  than  make  a  formal  show  of  resistance.  It  has  been 
a  rule  in  all  ages  that  a  general,  however  brave,  who  sacri 
fices  the  lives  of  his  soldiers  in  a  perfectly  hopeless  resist 
ance,  rather  than  accept  the  terms  of  an  honourable 
capitulation,  is  guilty  of  a  military  crime." 

"In  other  words,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  quietly,  "if  the 
French  troops  were  withdrawn,  and  the  Italians  were  be 
sieging  Rome,  you  would  at  once  capitulate  ?  " 

"  Certainly — after  making  a  formal  protest.  It  would 
be  criminal  to  sacrifice  our  fellow-citizens'  lives  in  such  a 
case." 

"And  then?" 

"  Then,  as  I  said  before,  I  would  make  the  best  of  it — 
not  omitting  to  congratulate  Del  Ferice  upon  obtaining  a 
post  in  the  new  Government,"  added  Giovanni,  with  a 
laugh. 

But  Del  Ferice  took  no  notice  of  the  jest. 

"  Do  you  not  think  that,  aside  from  any  question  of 
sympathy  or  loyalty  to  the  holy  Father,  the  change  of 
government  would  be  an  immense  advantage  to  Koine  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  To  Italy  the  advantage  would  be  in 
estimable  ;  to  Eome  it  would  be  an  injury.  Italy  would 


66  SABACINESCA. 

consolidate  the  prestige  she  began  to  acquire  when  Cavour 
succeeded  in  sending  a  handful  of  troops  to  the  Crimea 
eleven  years  ago ;  she  would  at  once  take  aliigh  position 
as  a  European  Power — provided  always  that  the  smould 
ering  republican  element  should  not  break  out  in  opposi 
tion  to  the  constitutional  monarchy.  But  Rome  would  be 
ruined.  She  is  no  longer  the  geographical  capital  of 
Italy — she  is  not  even  the  largest  city ;  but  in  the  course 
of  a  few  years,  violent  efforts  would  be  made  to  give  her 
a  fictitious  modern  grandeur,  in  the  place  of  the  moral 
importance  she  now  enjoys  as  the  headquarters  of  the 
Catholic  world.  Those  efforts  at  a  spurious  growth 
would  ruin  her  financially,  and  the  hatred  of  Romans  for 
Italians  of  the  north  would  cause  endless  internal  dis 
sension.  We  should  be  subjected  to  a  system  of  taxation 
which  would  fall  more  heavily  on  us  than  on  other  Ital 
ians,  in  proportion  as  our  land  is  less  productive.  On 
the  whole,  we  should  grow  rapidly  poorer;  for  prices 
would  rise,  and  we  should  have  a  paper  currency  instead 
of  a  metallic  one.  Especially  we  landed  proprietors 
would  suffer  terribly  by  the  Italian  land  system  being 
suddenly  thrust  upon  us.  To  be  obliged  to  sell  one's 
acres  to  any  peasant  wha  can  scrape  together  enough  to 
capitalise  the  pittance  he  now  pays  as  rent,  at  five  per 
cent,  would  scarcely  be  agreeable.  Such  a  fellow,  from 
whom  I  have  the  greatest  difficulty  in  extracting  his 
yearly  bushel  of  grain,  could  borrow  twenty  bushels  from 
a  neighbour,  or*  the  value  of  them,  and  buy  me  out  with 
out  my  consent — acquiring  land  worth  ten  times  the  rent 
he  and  his  father  have  paid  for  it,  and  his  father  before 
him.  It  would  produce  an  extraordinary  state  of  things, 
I  can  assure  you.  No — even  putting  aside  what  you  call 
my  sympathies  and  my  loyalty  to  the  Pope — I  do  not 
desire  any  change.  Nobody  who  owns  much  property 
does;  the  revolutionary  spirits  are  people  who  own 
nothing." 

"  On  the  other  hand,  those  who  own  nothing,  or  next 
to  nothing,  are  the  great  majority." 


SARACINESCA.  67 

"  Even  if  that  is  true,  which  I  doubt,  I  do  not  see  why 
the  intelligent  few  should  be  ruled  by  that  same  ignorant 
majority." 

"But  you  forget  that  the  majority  is  to  be  educated," 
objected  Del  Ferice. 

"  Education  is  a  term  few  people  can  define,"  returned 
Giovanni.  "  Any  good  schoolmaster  knows  vastly  more 
than  you  or  I.  Would  you  like  to  be  governed  by  a 
majority  of  schoolmasters  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  plausible  argument,"  laughed  Del  Ferice, 
"  but  it  is  not  sound." 

"  It  is  not  sound ! "  repeated  Giovanni,  impatiently. 
"  People  are  so  fond  of  exclaiming  that  what  they  do  not 
like  is  not  sound !  Do  you  think  that  it  would  not  be 
a  fair  case  to  put  five  hundred  schoolmasters  against  five 
hundred  gentlemen  of  average  education?  I  think  it 
would  be  very  fair.  The  schoolmasters  would  certainly 
have  the  advantage  in  education :  do  you  mean  to  say  they 
would  make  better  or  wiser  electors  than  the  same  num 
ber  of  gentlemen  who  cannot  name  all  the  cities  and  rivers 
in  Italy,  nor  translate  a  page  of  Latin  without  a  mistake, 
but  who  understand  the  conditions  of  property  by  practi 
cal  experience  as  no  schoolmaster  can  possibly  understand 
them  ?  I  tell  you  it  is  nonsense.  Education,  of  the  kind 
which  is  of  any  practical  value  in  the  government  of  a 
nation,  means  the  teaching  of  human  motives,  of  human 
ising  ideas,  of  some  system  whereby  the  majority  of 
electors  can  distinguish  the  qualities  of  honesty  and 
common-sense  in  the  candidate  they  wish  to  elect.  I  do 
not  pretend  to  say  what  that  system  may  be,  but  I  assert 
that  no  education  which  does  not  lead  to  that  kind  of 
knowledge  is  of  any  practical  use  to  the  voting  majority 
of  a  constitutionally  governed  country." 

Del  Ferice  sighed  rather  sadly. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  not  discover  that  system  in 
Europe,"  he  said.  He  was  disappointed  in  Giovanni, 
and  in  his  hopes  of  detecting  in  him  some  signs  of  a 
revolutionary  spirit.  Saracinesca  was  a  gentleman  of 


Sa  SABACINESCA. 

the  old  school,  who  evidently  despised  majorities  and 
modern  political  science  as  a  whole,  who  for  the  sake  of 
his  own  interests  desired  no  change  from  the  Govern 
ment  under  which  he  lived,  and  who  would  surely  be  the 
first  to  draw  the  sword  for  the  temporal  power,  and 
the  last  to  sheathe  it.  His  calm  judgment  concerning 
the  fallacy  of  holding  a  hopeless  position  would  vanish 
like  smoke  if  his  fiery  blood  were  once  roused.  He  was 
so  honest  a  man  that  even  Del  Ferice  could  not  suspect 
him  of  parading  views  he  did  not  hold ;  and  Ugo  then 
and  there  abandoned  all  idea  of  bringing  him  into  politi 
cal  trouble  and  disgrace,  though  he  by  no  means  gave  up 
all  hope  of  being  able  to  ruin  him  in  some  other  way. 

"I  agree  with  you  there  at  least,"  said  Saracinesca. 
"  The  only  improvements  worth  having  are  certainly  not 
to  be  found  in  Europe.  Donna  Tullia  is  calling  us.  We 
had  better  join  that  harmless  flock  of  lambs,  and  give 
over  speculating  on  the  advantages  of  allying  ourselves 
with  a  pack  of  wolves  who  will  eat  us  up,  house  and 
home,  bag  and  baggage." 

So  the  whole  party  climbed  again  to  their  seats  upon  the 
drag,  and  Valdarno  drove  them  back  into  Borne  by  the 
Porta  San  Giovanni. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Corona  d'Astrardente  had  been  educated  in  a  convent — 
that  is  to  say,  she  had  been  brought  up  in  the  strict  prac 
tice  of  her  religion ;  and  during  the  five  years  which  had 
elapsed  since  she  had  come  out  into  the  world,  she  had 
found  no  cause  for  forsaking  the  habits  she  had  acquired 
in  her  girlhood.  Some  people  find  religion  a  burden; 
others  regard  it  as  an  indifferently  useless  institution,  in 
which  they  desire  no  share,  and  concerning  which  they 
never  trouble  themselves  ;  others,  again,  look  upon  it  as 
the  mainstay  of  their  lives. 


SARACINESCA.  69 

It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  the  mode  of  thought  and 
the  habits  acquired  by  young  girls  in  a  religious  institution 
will  not  disappear  without  a  trace  when  they  first  go  into 
the  world,  and  it  may  even  be  expected  that  some  memory 
of  the  early  disposition  thus  cultivated  will  cling  to  them 
throughout  their  lives.  But  the  multifarious  interests  of 
social  existence  do  much  to  shake  that  young  edifice  of 
faith.  The  driving  strength  of  stormy  passions  of  all 
kinds  undermines  the  walls  of  the  fabric,  and  when  at 
last  the  bolt  of  adversity  strikes  full  upon  the  keystone 
of  the  arch,  upon  the  self  of  man  or  woman,  weakened 
and  loosened  by  the  tempests  of  years,  the  whole  palace 
of  the  soul  falls  in,  a  hopeless  wreck,  wherein  not  even  the 
memory  of  outline  can  be  traced,  nor  the  faint  shadow  of 
a  beauty  which  is  destroyed  for  ever. 

But  there  are  some  whose  interests  in  this  world  are  not 
strong  enough  to  shake  their  faith  in  the  next ;  whose  pas 
sions  do  not  get  the  mastery,  and  whose  self  is  sheltered 
from  danger  by  something  more  than  the  feeble  defence  of 
an  accomplished  egotism.  Corona  was  one  of  these,  for  her 
lot  had  not  been  happy,  nor  her  path  strewn  with  roses. 

She  was  a  friendless  woman,  destined  to  suffer  much, 
and  her  suffering  was  the  more  intense  that  she  seemed 
always  upon  the  point  of  finding  friends  in  the  world  where 
she  played  so  conspicuous  a  part.  There  can  be  little  hap 
piness  when  a  whole  life  has  been  placed  upon  a  false 
foundation,  even  though  so  dire  a  mistake  may  have  been 
committed  willingly  and  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  obliga 
tion,  such  as  drove  Corona  to  marry  old  Astrardente.  Con 
solation  is  not  satisfaction ;  and  though,  when  she  reflected 
on  what  she  had  done,  she  knew  that  from  her  point  of 
view  she  had  done  her  best,  she  knew  also  that  she  had 
closed  upon  herself  the  gates  of  the  earthly  paradise,  and 
that  for  her  the  prospect  of  happiness  had  been  removed 
from  the  now  to  the  hereafter — the  dim  and  shadowy  glass 
in  which  we  love  to  see  any  reflection  save  that  of  our  pres 
ent  lives.  And  to  her,  thus  living  in  submission  to  the  con 
sequences  of  her  choice,  that  faith  in  things  better  which 

Vol.  10—4 


70  SAKACINESCA. 

had  inspired  her  to  sacrifice  was  the  chief  remaining  source 
of  consolation.  There  was  a  good  man  to  whom  she  went 
for  advice,  as  she  had  gone  to  him  ever  since  she  could 
remember.  When  she  found  herself  in  trouble  she  never 
hesitated.  Padre  Filippo  was  to  her  the  living  proof  of 
the  possibility  of  human  goodness,  as  faith  is  to  us  all 
the  evidence  of  things  not  seen. 

Corona  was  in  trouble  now — in  a  trouble  so  new  that 
she  hardly  understood  it,  so  terrible  and  yet  so  vague  that 
she  felt  her  peril  imminent.  She  did  not  hesitate,  there 
fore,  nor  change  her  mind  upon  the  morning  following  the 
day  of  the  meet,  but  drove  to  the  church  of  the  Capuchins 
in  the  Piazza  Barber  ini,  and  went  up  the  broad  steps  with 
a  beating  heart,  not  knowing  how  she  should  tell  what 
she  meant  to  tell,  yet  knowing  that  there  was  for  her  no 
hope  of  peace  unless  she  told  it  quickly,  and  got  that 
advice  and  direction  she  so  earnestly  craved. 

Padre  Filippo  had  been  a  man  of  the  world  in  his  time 
— a  man  of  great  cultivation,  full  of  refined  tastes  and 
understanding  of  tastes  in  others,  gentle  and  courteous 
in  his  manners,  and  very  kind  of  heart.  No  one  knew 
whence  he  came.  He  spoke  Italian  correctly  and  with 
a  keen  scholarly  use  of  words,  but  his  slight  accent  be 
trayed  his  foreign  birth.  He  had  been  a  Capuchin  monk 
for  many  years,  perhaps  for  more  than  half  his  lifetime, 
and  Corona  could  remember  him  from  her  childhood,  for 
he  had  been  a  friend  of  her  father's ;  but  he  had  not  been 
consulted  about  her  marriage, — she  even  remembered  that, 
though  she  had  earnestly  desired  to  see  him  before  the 
wedding-day,  her  father  had  told  her  that  he  had  left 
Rome  for  a  time.  For  the  old  gentleman  was  in  terrible 
earnest  about  the  match,  so  that  in  his  heart  he  feared 
lest  Corona  might  waver  and  ask  Padre  Filippo's  advice ; 
and  he  knew  the  good  monk  too  well  to  think  that  he 
would  give  his  countenance  to  such  a  sacrifice  as  was  con 
templated  in  marrying  the  young  girl  to  old  Astrardente. 
Corona  had  known  this  later,  but  had  hardly  realised  the 
selfishness  of  her  father,  nor  indeed  had  desired  to  realise 


SABACINESCA.  71 

it.  It  was  sufficient  that  lie  had  died  satisfied  in  seeing 
her  married  to  a  great  noble,  and  that  she  had  been  able, 
in  his  last  days,  to  relieve  him  from  the  distress  of  debt 
and  embarrassment  which  had  doubtless  contributed  to 
shorten  his  life. 

The  proud  woman  who  had  thus  once  humbled  herself 
for  an  object  she  thought  good,  had  never  referred  to  her 
action  again.  She  had  never  spoken  of  her  position  to 
Padre  Filippo,  so  that  the  monk  wondered  and  admired 
her  steadfastness.  If  she  suffered,  it  was  in  silence,  with 
out  comment  and  without  complaint,  and  so  she  would 
have  suffered  to  the  end.  But  it  had  been  ordered  other 
wise.  For  months  she  had  known  that  the  interest  she 
felt  in  Giovanni  Saracinesca  was  increasing:  she  had 
choked  it  down,  had  done  all  in  her  power  to  prove  her 
self  indifferent  to  him ;  but  at  last  the  crisis  had  come. 
When  he  spoke  to  her  of  his  marriage,  she  had  felt — she 
knew  now  that  it  was  so — that  she  loved  him.  The  very 
word,  as  she  repeated  it  to  herself,  rang  like  an  awful, 
almost  incomprehensible,  accusation  of  evil  in  her  ears. 
One  moment  she  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps  outside  the 
church,  looking  down  at  the  bare  straggling  trees  below, 
and  upward  to  the  grey  sky,  against  which  the  lofty  eaves 
of  the  Palazzo  Barberini  stood  out  sharply  defined.  The 
weather  had  changed  again,  and  a  soft  southerly  wind 
was  blowing  the  spray  of  the  fountain  half  across  the 
piazza.  Corona  paused,  her  graceful  figure  half  lean 
ing  against  the  stone  doorpost  of  the  church,  her  hand 
upon  the  heavy  leathern  curtain  in  the  act  to  lift  it ;  and 
as  she  stood  there,  a  desperate  temptation  assailed  her. 
It  seemed  desperate  to  her — to  many  another  woman  it 
would  have  appeared  only  the  natural  course  to  pursue — 
to  turn  her  back  upon  the  church,  to  put  off  the  hard 
moment  of  confession,  to  go  down  again  into  the  city,  and 
to  say  to  herself  that  there  was  no  harm  in  seeing  Don 
Giovanni,  provided  she  never  let  him  speak  of  love.  Why 
should  he  speak  of  it  ?  Had  she  any  reason  to  suppose 
there  was  danger  to  her  in  anything  he  meant  to  say  ? 


72  SARACINESCA. 

Had  lie  ever,  by  word  or  deed,  betrayed  that  interest  in 
her  which  she  knew  in  herself  was  love  for  him  ?  Had 
he  ever  ? — ah  yes  !  It  was  only  the  night  before  last  that 
he  had  asked  her  advice,  had  besought  her  to  advise  him 
not  to  marry  another,  had  suffered  his  arm  to  tremble 
when  she  laid  her  hand  upon  it.  In  the  quick  remem 
brance  that  he  too  had  shown  some  feeling,  there  was  a 
sudden  burst  of  joy  such  as  Corona  had  never  felt,  and  a 
moment  later  she  knew  it  and  was  afraid.  It  was  true, 
then.  At  the  very  time  when  she  was  most  oppressed 
with  the  sense  of  her  fault  in  loving  him,  there  was  an 
inward  rejoicing  in  her  heart  at  the  bare  thought  that  she 
loved  him.  Could  a  woman  fall  lower,  she  asked  herself 
— lower  than  to  delight  in  what  she  knew  to  be  most  bad  ? 
And  yet  it  was  such  a  poor  little  thrill  of  pleasure  after 
all ;  but  it  was  the  first  she  had  ever  known.  To  turn 
away  and  reflect  for  a  few  days  would  be  so  easy !  It 
would  be  so  sweet  to  think  of  it,  even  though  the  excuse 
for  thinking  of  Giovanni  should  be  a  good  determination 
to  root  him  from  her  life.  It  would  be  so  sweet  to  drive 
again  alone  among  the  trees  that  very  afternoon,  and  to 
weigh  the  salvation  of  her  soul  in  the  balance  of  her  heart : 
her  heart  would  know  how  to  turn  the  scales,  surely 
enough.  Corona  stood  still,  holding  the  curtain  in  her 
hand.  She  was  a  brave  woman,  but  she  turned  pale — not 
hesitating,  she  said  to  herself,  but  pausing.  Then,  sud 
denly,  a  great  scorn  of  herself  arose  in  her.  Was  it  worthy 
of  her  even  to  pause  in  doing  right  ?  The  nobility  of  her 
courage  cried  loudly  to  her  to  go  in  and  do  the  thing  most 
worthy :  her  hand  lifted  the  heavy  leathern  apron,  and 
she  entered  the  church. 

The  air  within  was  heavy  and  moist,  and  the  grey  light 
fell  coldly  through  the  tall  windows.  Corona  shuddered, 
and  drew  her  furs  more  closely  about  her  as  she  passed 
up  the  aisle  to  the  door  of  the  sacristy.  She  found  the 
monk  she  sought,  and  she  made  her  confession. 

"Padre  mio,"  she  said  at  last,  when  the  good  man 
thought  she  had  finished — "  Padre  mio,  I  am  a  very  mis- 


SABACmESCA.  73 

erable  woman."  She  hid  her  dark  face  in  her  ungloved 
hands,  and  one  by  one  the  crystal  tears  welled  from  her 
eyes  and  trickled  down  upon  her  small  fingers  and  upon 
the  worn  black  wood  of  the  confessional. 

"  My  daughter,"  said  the  good  monk,  "  I  will  pray  for 
you,  others  will  pray  for  you — but  before  all  things,  you 
must  pray  for  yourself.  And  let  me  advise  you,  my 
child,  that  as  we  are  all  led  into  temptation,  we  must 
not  think  that  because  we  have  been  in  temptation  we 
have  sinned  hopelessly ;  nor,  if  we  have  fought  against 
the  thing  that  tempts  us,  should  we  at  once  imagine  that 
we  have  overcome  it,  and  have  done  altogether  right.  If 
there  were  no  evil  in  ourselves,  there  could  be  no  temp 
tation  from  without,  for  nothing  evil  could  seem  pleasant. 
But  with  you  I  cannot  find  that  you  have  done  any  great 
wrong  as  yet.  You  must  take  courage.  We  are  all  in 
the  world,  and  do  what  we  may,  we  cannot  disregard  it. 
The  sin  you  see  is  real,  but  it  is  yet  not  very  near  you 
since  you  so  abhor  it ;  and  if  you  pray  that  you  may  hate 
it,  it  will  go  further  from  you  till  you  may  hope  not  even 
to  understand  how  it  could  once  have  been  so  near.  Take 
courage — take  comfort.  Do  not  be  morbid.  Eesist  temp 
tation,  but  do  not  analyse  it  nor  yourself  too  closely ;  for 
it  is  one  of  the  chief  signs  of  evil  in  us  that  when  we 
dwell  too  much  upon  ourselves  and  upon  our  temptations, 
we  ourselves  seem  good  in  our  own  eyes,  and  our  tempta 
tions  not  unpleasant,  because  the  very  resisting  of  them 
seems  to  make  us  appear  better  than  we  are." 

But  the  tears  still  flowed  from  Corona's  eyes  in  the  dark 
corner  of  the  church,  and  she  could  not  be  comforted. 

"  Padre  mio,"  she  repeated,  "  I  am  very  unhappy.  I 
have  not  a  friend  in  the  world  to  whom  I  can  speak. 
I  have  never  seen  my  life  before  as  I  see  it  now.  God 
forgive  me,  I  have  never  loved  my  husband.  I  never 
knew  what  it  meant  to  love.  I  was  a  mere  child,  a  very 
innocent  child,  when  I  was  married  to  him.  I  would  have 
sought  your  advice,  but  they  told  me  you  were  away, 
and  I  thought  I  was  doing  right  in  obeying  my  father." 


74  SABACINESCA. 

Padre  Filippo  sighed.  He  had  long  known  and  under 
stood  why  Corona  had  not  been  allowed  to  come  to  him 
at  the  most  important  moment  of  her  life. 

"My  husband  is  very  kind  to  me,"  she  continued  in 
broken  tones.  "  He  loves  me  in  his  way,  but  I  do  not 
love  him.  That  of  itself  is  a  great  sin.  It  seems  to  me 
as  though  I  saw  but  one  half  of  life,  and  saw  it  from  the 
window  of  a  prison ;  and  yet  I  am  not  imprisoned.  I 
would  that  I  were,  for  I  should  never  have  seen  another 
man.  I  should  never  have  heard  his  voice,  nor  seen  his 
face,  nor — nor  loved  him,  as  I  do  love  him,"  she  sobbed. 

"  Hush,  my  daughter,"  said  the  old  monk,  very  gently. 
"  You  told  me  you  had  never  spoken  of  love ;  that  you 
were  interested  in  him,  indeed,  but  that  you  did  not 
know " 

"I  know — I  know  now,"  cried  Corona,  losing  all  control 
as  the  passionate  tears  flowed  down.  "  I  could  not  say  it 
— it  seemed  so  dreadful — I  love  him  with  my  whole  self ! 
I  can  never  get  it  out — it  burns  me.  O  God,  I  am  so 
wretched!" 

Padre  Filippo  was  silent  for  a  while.  It  was  a  terrible 
case.  He  could  not  remember  in  all  his  experience  to 
have  known  one  more  sad  to  contemplate,  though  his  busi 
ness  was  with  the  sins  and  the  sorrows  of  the  world.  The 
beautiful  woman  kneeling  outside  his  confessional  was 
innocent — as  innocent  as  a  child,  brave  and  faithful. 
She  had  sacrificed  her  whole  life  for  her  father,  who 
had  been  little  worthy  of  such  devotion ;  she  had  borne 
for  years  the  suffering  of  being  tied  to  an  old  man  whom 
she  could  not  help  despising,  however  honestly  she  tried 
to  conceal  the  fact  from  herself,  however  effectually  she 
hid  it  from  others.  It  was  a  wonder  the  disaster  had 
not  occurred  before :  it  showed  how  loyal  and  true  a 
woman  she  was,  that,  living  in  the  very  centre  and 
midst  of  the  world,  admired  and  assailed  by  many,  she 
should  never  in  five  years  have  so  much  as  thought  of 
any  man  beside  her  husband.  A  woman  made  for  love 
and  happiness,  in  the  glory  of  beauty  and  youth,  capable 


SARACINESCA.  75 

of  such  unfaltering  determination  in  her  loyalty,  so  good, 
so  noble,  so  generous, — it  seemed  unspeakably  pathetic 
to  hear  her  weeping  her  heart  out,  and  confessing  that, 
after  so  many  struggles  and  efforts  and  sacrifices,  she 
had  at  last  met  the  common  fate  of  all  humanity,  and 
was  become  subject  to  love.  What  might  have  been  her 
happiness  was  turned  to  dishonour;  what  should  have 
been  the  pride  of  her  young  life  was  made  a  reproach. 

She  would  not  fall.  The  grey-haired  monk  believed 
that,  in  his  great  knowledge  of  mankind.  But  she  would 
suffer  terribly,  and  it  might  be  that  others  would  suffer 
also.  It  was  the  consequence  of  an  irretrievable  error  in 
the  beginning,  when  it  had  seemed  to  the  young  girl  just 
leaving  the  convent  that  the  best  protection  against  the 
world  of  evil  into  which  she  was  to  go  would  be  the  un 
conditional  sacrifice  of  herself. 

Padre  Filippo  was  silent.  He  hoped  that  the  passionate 
outburst  of  grief  and  self-reproach  would  pass,  though  he 
himself  could  find  little  enough  to  say.  It  was  all  too 
natural.  What  was  he,  he  thought,  that  he  should  ex 
plain  away  nature,  and  bid  a  friendless  woman  defy  a 
power  that  has  more  than  once  overset  the  reckoning  of 
the  world  ?  He  could  bid  her  pray  for  help  and  strength, 
but  he  found  it  hard  to  argue  the  case  with  her;  for  he 
had  to  allow  that  his  beautiful  penitent  was,  after  all, 
only  experiencing  what  it  might  have  been  foretold  that 
she  must  feel,  and  that,  as  far  as  he  could  see,  she  was 
struggling  bravely  against  the  dangers  of  her  situation. 

Corona  cried  bitterly  as  she  knelt  there.  It  was  a  great 
relief  to  give  way  for  a  time  to  the  whole  violence  of  what 
she  felt.  It  may  be  that  in  her  tears  there  was  a  subtle 
instinctive  knowledge  that  she  was  weeping  for  her  love 
as  well  as  for  her  sin  in  loving,  but  her  grief  was  none 
the  less  real.  She  did  not  understand  herself.  She  did 
not  know,  as  Padre  Filippo  knew,  that  her  woman's 
heart  was  breaking  for  sympathy  rather  than  for  re 
ligious  counsel.  She  knew  many  women,  but  her  noble 
pride  would  not  have  let  her  even  contemplate  the  pos- 


76  SAEACINESCA. 

sibility  of  confiding  in  any  one  of  them,  even  if  she 
could  have  done  so  in  the  certainty  of  not  being  herself 
betrayed  and  of  not  betraying  the  man  she  loved.  She  had 
been  accustomed  to  come  to  her  confessor  for  counsel,  and 
she  now  came  to  him  with  her  troubles  and  craved  sympathy 
for  them,  in  the  knowledge  that  Padre  Filippo  could  never 
know  the  name  of  the  man  who  had  disturbed  her  peace. 

But  the  monk  understood  well  enough,  and  his  kind 
heart  comprehended  hers  and  felt  for  her. 

"My  daughter,"  he  said  at  last,  when  she  seemed  to 
have  grown  more  calm,  "  it  would  be  an  inestimable  ad 
vantage  if  this  man  could  go  away  for  a  time,  but  that  is 
probably  not  to  be  expected.  Meanwhile,  you  must  not 
listen  to  him  if  he  speaks " 

"  It  is  not  that,"  interrupted  Corona — "  it  is  not  that. 
He  never  speaks  of  love.  Oh,  I  really  believe  he  does 
not  love  me  at  all !  "  But  in  her  heart  she  felt  that  he 
must  love  her;  and  her  hand,  as  it  lay  upon  the  hard 
wood  of  the  confessional,  seemed  still  to  feel  his  trem 
bling  arm. 

"  That  is  so  much  the  better,  my  child,"  said  the  monk, 
quietly.  "  For  if  he  does  not  love  you,  your  temptations 
will  not  grow  stronger." 

"And  yet,  perhaps — he  may "  murmured  Corona, 

feeling  that  it  would  be  wrong  even  to  conceal  her  faintest 
suspicions  at  such  a  time. 

"Let  there  be  no  perhaps,"  answered  Padre  Filippo, 
almost  sternly.  "  Let  it  never  enter  your  mind  that  he 
might  love  you.  Think  that  even  from  the  worldly  point 
there  is  small  dignity  in  a  woman  who  exhibits  love  for  a 
man  who  has  never  mentioned  love  to  her.  You  have  no 
reason  to  suppose  you  are  loved  save  that  you  desire  to 
be.  Let  there  be  no  perhaps." 

The  monk's  keen  insight  into  character  had  given  him 
an  unexpected  weapon  in  Corona's  defence.  He  knew  how 
of  all  things  a  proud  woman  hates  to  know  that  where  she 
has  placed  her  heart  there  is  no  response,  and  that  if  she 
fails  to  awaken  an  affection  akin  to  her  own,  what  has  been 


SARACINESCA.  77 

love  may  be  turned  to  loathing,  or  at  least  to  indifference. 
The  strong  character  of  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente  re 
sponded  to  his  touch  as  he  expected.  Her  tears  ceased 
to  flow,  and  her  scorn  rose  haughtily  against  herself. 

" It  is  true.  I  am  despicable,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "You 
have  shown  me  myself.  There  shall  be  no  perhaps.  I 
loathe  myself  for  thinking  of  it.  Pray  for  me,  lest  I  fall 
so  low  again." 

A  few  minutes  later  Corona  left  the  confessional  and 
went  and  kneeled  in  the  body  of  the  church  to  collect  her 
thoughts.  She  was  in  a  very  different  frame  of  mind  from 
that  in  which  she  had  left  home  an  hour  ago.  She  hardly 
knew  whether  she  felt  herself  a  better  woman,  but  she  was 
sure  that  she  was  stronger.  There  was  no  desire  left  in 
her  to  meditate  sadly  upon  her  sorrow — to  go  over  and 
over  in  her  thoughts  the  feelings  she  experienced,  the 
fears  she  felt,  the  half-formulated  hope  that  Giovanni 
might  love  her  after  all.  There  was  left  only  a  haughty 
determination  to  have  done  with  her  folly  quickly  and 
surely,  and  to  try  and  forget  it  for  ever.  The  confessor's 
words  had  produced  their  effect.  Henceforth  she  would 
never  stoop  so  low  again.  She  was  ready  to  go  out  into 
the  world  now,  and  she  felt  no  fear.  It  was  more  from 
habit  than  for  the  sake  of  saying  a  prayer  that  she  knelt 
in  the  church  after  her  confession,  for  she  felt  very 
strong.  She  rose  to  her  feet  presently,  and  moved 
towards  the  door:  she  had  not  gone  half  the  length  of 
the  church  when  she  came  face  to  face  with  Donna  Tullia 
Mayer. 

It  was  a  strange  coincidence.  The  ladies  of  Rome 
frequently  go  to  the  church  of  the  Capuchins,  as  Corona 
had  done,  to  seek  the  aid  and  counsel  of  Padre  Filippo, 
but  Corona  had  never  met  Donna  Tullia  there.  Madame 
Mayer  did  not  profess  to  be  very  devout.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  had  not  found  it  convenient  to  go  to  confession 
during  the  Christmas  season,  and  she  had  been  intending 
to  make  up  for  the  deficiency  for  some  time  past ;  but  it  is 
improbable  that  she  would  have  decided  upon  fulfilling  her 


78  SARACINESCA. 

religious  obligations  before  Lent  if  she  had  not  chanced 
to  see  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente's  carriage  standing  at 
the  foot  of  the  church  steps. 

Donna  Tullia  had  risen  early  because  she  was  going  to 
sit  for  her  portrait  to  a  young  artist  who  lived  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  Piazza  Barberini,  and  as  she  passed 
in  her  brougham  she  caught  sight  of  the  Duchessa's  liv 
eries.  The  artist  could  wait  half  an  hour:  the  oppor 
tunity  was  admirable.  She  was  alone,  and  would  not 
only  do  her  duty  in  going  to  confession,  but  would  have 
a  chance  of  seeing  how  Corona  looked  when  she  had  been 
at  her  devotions.  It  might  also  be  possible  to  judge  from 
Padre  Filippo's  manner  whether  the  interview  had  been 
an  interesting  one.  The  Astrardente  was  so  very  devout 
that  she  probably  had  difficulty  in  inventing  sins  to  con 
fess.  One  might  perhaps  tell  from  her  face  whether  she 
had  felt  any  emotion.  At  all  events  the  opportunity 
should  not  be  lost.  Besides,  if  Donna  Tullia  found  that 
she  herself  was  really  not  in  a  proper  frame  of  mind  for 
religious  exercises,  she  could  easily  spend  a  few  moments 
in  the  church  and  then  proceed  upon  her  way.  She 
stopped  her  carriage  and  went  in.  She  had  just  entered 
when  she  was  aware  of  the  tall  figure  of  Corona  d? Astrar 
dente  coming  towards  her,  magnificent  in  the  simplicity 
of  her  furs,  a  short  veil  just  covering  half  her  face,  and 
an  unwonted  colour  in  her  dark  cheeks. 

Corona  was  surprised  at  meeting  Madame  Mayer,  but 
she  did  not  show  it.  She  nodded  with  a  sufficiently 
pleasant  smile,  and  would  have  passed  on.  This  would 
not  have  suited  Donna  Tullia's  intentions,  however,  for 
she  meant  to  have  a  good  look  at  her  friend.  It  was  not 
for  nothing  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go  to  con 
fession  at  a  moment's  notice.  She  therefore  stopped 
the  Duchessa,  and  insisted  upon  shaking  hands. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  coincidence  ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  You  must  have  been  to  see  Padre  Filippo  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Corona.  "  You  will  find  him  in  the 
sacristy."  She  noticed  that  Madame  Mayer  regarded  her 


SARACINESCA.  79 

with  great  interest.  Indeed  she  could  hardly  be  aware 
how  unlike  her  usual  self  she  appeared.  There  were 
dark  rings  beneath  her  eyes,  and  her  eyes  themselves 
seemed  to  emit  a  strange  light;  while  an  unwonted 
colour  illuminated  her  olive  cheeks,  and  her  voice  had 
a  curiously  excited  tone.  Madame  Mayer  stared  at  her 
so  hard  that  she  noticed  it. 

"Why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that?"  asked  the 
Duchessa,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  was  wondering  what  in  the  world  you  could  find  to 
confess,"  replied  Donna  Tullia,  sweetly.  "You  are  so 
immensely  good,  you  see  ;  everybody  wonders  at  you." 

Corona's  eyes  flashed  darkly.  She  suspected  that 
Madame  Mayer  noticed  something  unusual  in  her  ap 
pearance,  and  had  made  the  awkward  speech  to  conceal 
her  curiosity.  She  was  annoyed  at  the  meeting,  still  more 
at  being  detained  in  conversation  within  the  church. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  invest  me  with  such  vir 
tues,"  she  answered.  "  I  assure  you  I  am  not  half  so  good 
as  you  suppose.  Good-bye — I  must  be  going  home." 

"  Stay  ! "  exclaimed  Donna  Tullia ;  "  I  can  go  to  con 
fession  another  time.  Will  not  you  come  with  me  to 
Gouache's  studio  ?  I  am  going  to  sit.  It  is  such  a  bore 
to  go  alone." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Corona,  civilly.  "  I  am 
afraid  I  cannot  go.  My  husband  expects  me  at  home. 
I  wish  you  a  good  sitting." 

"Well,  good-bye.  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  we  had 
such  a  charming  picnic  yesterday.  It  was  so  fortunate 
— the  only  fine  day  this  week.  Giovanni  was  very  amus 
ing  :  he  was  completely  en  train,  and  kept  us  laughing 
the  whole  day.  Good-bye ;  I  do  so  wish  you  had  come." 

"  I  was  very  sorry,"  answered  Corona,  quietly,  "  but  it 
was  impossible.  I  am  glad  you  all  enjoyed  it  so  much. 
Good-bye." 

So  they  parted. 

"How  she  wishes  that  same  husband  of  hers  would 
follow  the  example  of  my  excellent  old  Mayer,  of  blessed 


80  SAKACINESCA. 

memory,  and  take  himself  out  of  the  world  to-day  or  to 
morrow  ! "  thought  Donna  Tullia,  as  she  walked  up  the 
church. 

She  was  sure  something  unusual  had  occurred,  and  she 
longed  to  fathom  the  mystery.  But  she  was  not  alto 
gether  a  bad  woman,  and  when  she  had  collected  her 
thoughts  she  made  up  her  mind  that  even  by  the  utmost 
stretch  of  moral  indulgence,  she  could  not  consider  her 
self  in  a  proper  state  to  undertake  so  serious  a  matter  as 
confession.  She  therefore  waited  a  few  minutes,  to  give 
time  for  Corona  to  drive  away,  and  then  turned  back. 
She  cautiously  pushed  aside  the  curtain  and  looked  out. 
The  Astrardente  carriage  was  just  disappearing  in  the 
distance.  Donna  Tullia  descended  the  steps,  got  into 
her  brougham,  and  proceeded  to  the  studio  of  Monsieur 
Anastase  Gouache,  the  portrait-painter.  She  had  not 
accomplished  much,  save  to  rouse  her  curiosity,  and  that 
parting  thrust  concerning  Don  Giovanni  had  been  rather 
ill-timed. 

She  drove  to  the  door  of  the  studio  and  found  Del 
Ferice  waiting  for  her  as  usual.  If  Corona  had  accom 
panied  her,  she  would  have  expressed  astonishment  at 
finding  him ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Ugo  always  met 
her  there,  and  helped  to  pass  the  time  while  she  was  sit 
ting.  He  was  very  amusing,  and  not  altogether  unsym 
pathetic  to  her ;  and  moreover,  he  professed  for  her  the 
most  profound  devotion — genuine,  perhaps,  and  certainly 
skilfully  expressed.  If  any  one  had  paid  much  attention 
to  Del  Ferice's  doings,  it  would  have  been  said  that  he 
was  paying  court  to  the  rich  young  widow.  But  he  was 
never  looked  upon  by  society  from  the  point  of  view  of 
matrimonial  possibility,  and  no  one  thought  of  attaching 
any  importance  to  his  doings.  Nevertheless  Ugo,  who 
had  been  gradually  rising  in  the  social  scale  for  many 
years,  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  not  win  the  hand  of 
Donna  Tullia  as  well  as  any  one  else,  if  only  Giovanni 
Saracinesca  could  be  kept  out  of  the  way ;  and  he  devoted 
himself  with  becoming  assiduity  to  the  service  of  the 


SAEAC12TESCA.  81 

widow,  while  doing  his  utmost  to  promote  Giovanni's 
attachment  for  the  Astrardente,  which  he  had  been  the 
first  to  discover.  Donna  Tullia  would  probably  have 
laughed  to  scorn  the  idea  that  Del  Ferice  could  think  of 
himself  seriously  as  a  suitor,  but  of  all  her  admirers  she 
found  him  the  most  constant  and  the  most  convenient. 

"  What  are  the  news  this  morning  ?  "  she  asked,  as  he 
opened  her  carriage-door  for  her  before  the  studio. 

"  None,  save  that  I  am  your  faithful  slave  as  ever,"  he 
answered. 

"  I  have  just  seen  the  Astrardente,"  said  Donna  Tullia, 
still  sitting  in  her  seat.  "  I  will  let  you  guess  where  it 
was  that  we  met." 

"  You  met  in  the  church  of  the  Capuchins/'  replied 
Del  Ferice  promptly,  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction. 

"  You  are  a  sorcerer  :  how  did  you  know  ?  Did  you 
guess  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  look  down  this  street  from  where  I  stand, 
you  will  perceive  that  I  could  distinctly  see  any  carriage 
which  turned  out  of  the  Piazza  Barberini  towards  the 
Capuchins,"  replied  Ugo.  "  She  was  there  nearly  an 
hour,  and  you  only  stayed  five  minutes." 

"  How  dreadful  it  is  to  be  watched  like  this ! "  ex 
claimed  Donna  Tullia,  with  a  little  laugh,  half  expressive 
of  satisfaction  and  half  of  amusement  at  Del  Ferice's 
devotion. 

"  How  can  I  help  watching  you,  as  the  earth  watches 
the  sun  in  its  daily  course  ? "  said  Ugo,  with  a  senti 
mental  intonation  of  his  soft  persuasive  voice.  Donna 
Tullia  looked  at  his  smooth  face,  and  laughed  again,  half 
kindly. 

"  The  Astrardente  had  been  confessing  her  sins,"  she 
remarked. 

"Again?     She  is  always  confessing." 

"  What  do  you  suppose  she  finds  to  say  ? "  asked 
Donna  Tullia. 

"  That  her  husband  is  hideous,  and  that  you  are  beau 
tiful,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  readily  enough. 


82  SARACINESCA. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  she  hates  her  husband  and  hates  you." 

"Why,  again?" 

"Because  you  took  Giovanni  Saracinesca  to  your  picnic 
yesterday ;  because  you  are  always  taking  him  away  from 
her.  For  the  matter  of  that,  I  hate  him  as  much  as  the 
Astrardente  hates  you,"  added  Del  Ferice,  with  an  agree 
able  smile.  Donna  Tullia  did  not  despise  flattery,  but 
Ugo  made  her  thoughtful. 

"  Do  you  think  she  really  cares ?  "  she  asked. 

"  As  surely  as  that  he  does  not,"  replied  Del  Ferice. 

"  It  would  be  strange,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  meditatively. 
"  I  would  like  to  know  if  it  is  true." 

"  You  have  only  to  watch  them." 

"Surely  Giovanni  cares  more  than  she  does,"  objected 
Madame  Mayer.  "  Everybody  says  he  loves  her ;  nobody 
says  she  loves  him." 

"  All  the  more  reason.  Popular  report  is  always  mis 
taken — except  in  regard  to  you." 

"Tome?" 

"  Since  it  ascribes  to  you  so  much  that  is  good,  it  can 
not  be  wrong,"  replied  Del  Ferice. 

Donna  Tullia  laughed,  and  took  his  hand  to  descend 
from  her  carriage. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Monsieur  Gouache's  studio  was  on  the  second  floor. 
The  narrow  flight  of  steps  ended  abruptly  against  a  green 
door,  perforated  by  a  slit  for  the  insertion  of  letters,  by  a 
shabby  green  cord  which,  being  pulled,  rang  a  feeble  bell, 
and  adorned  by  a  visiting-card,  whereon  with  many  super 
fluous  flourishes  and  ornaments  of  caligraphy  was  inscribed 
the  name  of  the  artist — ANASTASE  GOUACHE. 

The  door  being  opened  by  a  string,  Donna  Tullia  and 
Del  Ferice  entered,  and  mounting  half-a-dozen  more 


SAKACINESCA.  83 

steps,  found  themselves  in  the  studio,  a  spacious  room 
with  a  window  high  above  the  floor,  half  shaded  by  a 
curtain  of  grey  cotton.  In  one  corner  an  iron  stove  gave 
out  loud  cracking  sounds,  pleasant  to  hear  on  the  damp 
winter's  morning,  and  the  flame  shone  red  through 
chinks  of  the  rusty  door.  A  dark-green  carpet  in  pass 
ably  good  condition  covered  the  floor;  three  or  four 
broad  divans,  spread  with  oriental  rugs,  and  two  very 
much  dilapidated  carved  chairs  with  leathern  seats,  con 
stituted  the  furniture ;  the  walls  were  hung  with  sketches 
of  heads  and  figures ;  half-finished  portraits  stood  upon 
two  easels,  and  others  were  leaning  together  in  a  corner ; 
a  couple  of  small  tables  were  covered  with  colour-tubes, 
brushes,  and  palette-knives  ;  mingled  odours  of  paint, 
varnish,  and  cigarette-smoke  pervaded  the  air;  and,  lastly, 
upon  a  high  stool  before  one  of  the  easels,  his  sleeves 
turned  up  to  the  elbow,  and  his  feet  tucked  in  upon  a 
rail  beneath  him,  sat  Anastase  Gouache  himself. 

He  was  a  man  of  not  more  than  seven-and-twenty 
years,  with  delicate  pale  features,  and  an  abundance  of 
glossy  black  hair.  A  small  and  very  much  pointed 
moustache  shaded  his  upper  lip,  and  the  extremities 
thereof  rose  short  and  perpendicular  from  the  corners  of 
his  well-shaped  mouth.  His  eyes  were  dark  and  singu 
larly  expressive,  his  forehead  low  and  very  broad ;  his 
hands  were  sufficiently  nervous  and  well  knit,  but  white 
as  a  woman's,  and  the  fingers  tapered  delicately  to  the 
tips.  He  wore  a  brown  velvet  coat  more  or  less  daubed 
with  paint,  and  his  collar  was  low  at  the  throat. 

He  sprang  from  his  high  stool  as  Donna  Tullia  and  Del 
Ferice  entered,  his  palette  and  rnahl-stick  in  his  hand,  and 
made  a  most  ceremonious  bow;  whereat  Donna  Tullia 
laughed  gaily. 

"  Well,  Gouache,"  she  said  familiarly,  "  what  have  you 
been  doing  ?  " 

Anastase  motioned  to  her  to  come  before  his  canvas 
and  contemplate  the  portrait  of  herself  upon  which  he 
was  working.  It  was  undeniably  good — a  striking  figure 


84  SARACINESCA. 

in  full-length,  life-size,  and  breathing  with  Donna  Tullia's 
vitality,  if  also  with  something  of  her  coarseness. 

"  Ah,  my  friend,"  remarked  Del  Ferice,  "  you  will  never 
be  successful  until  you  take  my  advice." 

"  I  think  it  is  very  like,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  thought 
fully. 

"  You  are  too  modest,"  answered  Del  Ferice.  "  There 
is  the  foundation  of  likeness,  but  it  lacks  yet  the  soul." 

"  Oh,  but  that  will  come,"  returned  Madame  Mayer. 
Then  turning  to  the  artist,  she  added  in  a  more  doubtful 
voice,  "  Perhaps,  as  Del  Ferice  says,  you  might  give  it  a 
little  more  expression — what  shall  I  say  ? — more  poetry." 

Anastase  Gouache  smiled  a  fine  smile.  He  was  a  man 
of  immense  talent ;  since  he  had  won  the  Prix  de  Rome 
he  had  made  great  progress,  and  was  already  half  famous 
with  that  young  celebrity  which  young  men  easily  mis 
take  for  fame  itself.  A  new  comet  visible  only  through 
a  good  glass  causes  a  deal  of  talk  and  speculation  in  the 
world ;  but  unless  it  comes  near  enough  to  brush  the 
earth  with  its  tail,  it  is  very  soon  forgotten.  But 
Gouache  seemed  to  understand  this,  and  worked  steadily 
on.  When  Madame  Mayer  expressed  a  wish  for  a  little 
more  poetry  in  her  portrait,  he  smiled,  well  knowing 
that  poetry  was  as  far  removed  from  her  nature  as  dry 
champagne  is  different  in  quality  from  small  beer. 

"  Yes,"  he  said ;  "  I  know — I  am  only  too  conscious  of 
that  defect."  As  indeed  he  was — conscious  of  the  defect 
of  it  in  herself.  But  he  had  many  reasons  for  not  wish 
ing  to  quarrel  with  Donna  Tullia,  and  he  swallowed  his 
artistic  convictions  in  a  rash  resolve  to  make  her  look 
like  an  inspired  prophetess  rather  than  displease  her. 

"  If  you  will  sit  down,  I  will  work  upon  the  head,"  he 
said ;  and  moving  one  of  the  old  carved  chairs  into  posi 
tion  for  her,  he  adjusted  the  light  and  began  to  work 
without  any  further  words.  Del  Ferice  installed  himself 
upon  a  divan  whence  he  could  see  Donna  Tullia  and  her 
portrait,  and  the  sitting  began.  It  might  have  continued 
for  some  time  in  a  profound  silence  as  far  as  the  two  men 


SABACINESCA.  85 

were  concerned,  but  silence  was  not  bearable  for  long  to 
Donna  Tullia. 

"  What  were  you  and  Saracinesca  talking  about  yester 
day  ?  "  she  asked  suddenly,  looking  towards  Del  Ferice. 

"  Politics,"  he  answered,  and  was  silent. 

"  Well  ?  "  inquired  Madame  Mayer,  rather  anxiously. 

"  I  am  sure  you  know  his  views  as  well  as  I,"  returned 
Del  Ferice,  rather  gloomily.  "  He  is  stupid  and  preju 
diced." 

"Really?"  ejaculated  Gouache,  with  innocent  surprise. 
"A  little  more  towards  me,  Madame.  Thank  you — so." 
And  he  continued  painting. 

"You  are  absurd,  Del  Ferice ! "  exclaimed  Donna  Tullia, 
colouring  a  little.  "  You  think  every  one  prejudiced  and 
stupid  who  does  not  agree  with  you." 

"  With  me  ?  With  you,  with  us,  you  should  say. 
Giovanni  is  a  specimen  of  the  furious  Conservative,  who 
hates  change  and  has  a  cold  chill  at  the  word  i  republic.' 
Do  you  call  that  intelligent  ?  " 

"  Giovanni  is  intelligent  for  all  that,"  answered  Mad 
ame  Mayer.  "  I  am  not  sure  that  he  is  not  more  intelli 
gent  than  you — in  some  ways,"  she  added,  after  allowing 
her  rebuke  to  take  effect. 

Del  Ferice  smiled  blandly.  It  was  not  his  business  to 
show  that  he  was  hurt. 

"In  one  thing  he  is  stupid  compared  with  me,"  he 
replied.  "He  is  very  far  from  doing  justice  to  your 
charms.  It  must  be  a  singular  lack  of  intelligence  which 
prevents  him  from  seeing  that  you  are  as  beautiful  as  you 
are  charming.  Is  it  not  so,  Gouache  ?  " 

"  Does  any  one  deny  it  ?  "  asked  the  Frenchman,  with 
an  air  of  devotion. 

Madame  Mayer  blushed  with  annnoyance ;  both  because 
she  coveted  Giovanni's  admiration  more  than  that  of  other 
men,  and  knew  that  she  had  not  won  it,  and  because  she 
hated  to  feel  that  Del  Ferice  was  able  to  wound  her  so 
easily.  To  cover  her  discomfiture  she  returned  to  the 
subject  of  politics. 


86  SABACINESCA. 

"  We  talk  a  great  deal  of  our  convictions,"  she  said ; 
"but  in  the  meanwhile  we  must  acknowledge  that  we 
have  accomplished  nothing  at  all.  What  is  the  good  of 
our  meeting  here  two  or  three  times  a- week,  meeting  in 
society,  whispering  together,  corresponding  in  cipher,  and 
doing  all  manner  of  things,  when  everything  goes  on  just 
the  same  as  before  ?  " 

"Better  give  it  up  and  join  Don  Giovanni  and  his 
party,"  returned  Del  Ferice,  with  a  sneer.  "He  says  if  a 
change  comes  he  will  make  the  best  of  it.  Of  course,  we 
could  not  do  better." 

"With  us  it  is  so  easy,"  said  Gouache,  thoughtfully. 
"A  handful  of  students,  a  few  paving-stones,  'Vive  la 
Re"publique  ! '  and  we  have  a  tumult  in  no  time." 

That  was  not  the  kind  of  revolution  in  which  Del 
Ferice  proposed  to  have  a  hand.  He  meditated  playing 
a  very  small  part  in  some  great  movement;  and  when  the 
righting  should  be  over,  he  meant  to  exaggerate  the  part 
he  had  played,  and  claim  a  substantial  reward.  For  a 
good  title  and  twenty  thousand  francs  a-year  he  would 
have  become  as  stanch  for  the  temporal  power  as  any 
canon  of  St.  Peter's.  When  he  had  begun  talking  of 
revolutions  to  Madame  Mayer  and  to  half-a-dozen  hare 
brained  youths,  of  whom  Gouache  the  painter  was  one,  he 
had  not  really  the  slightest  idea  of  accomplishing  any 
thing.  He  took  advantage  of  the  prevailing  excitement 
in  order  to  draw  Donna  Tullia  into  a  closer  confidence 
than  he  could  otherwise  have  aspired  to  obtain.  He 
wanted  to  marry  her,  and  every  new  power  he  could  ob 
tain  over  her  was  a  step  towards  his  goal.  Neither  she 
nor  her  friends  were  of  the  stuff  required  for  revolution 
ary  work ;  but  Del  Ferice  had  hopes  that,  by  means  of 
the  knot  of  malcontents  he  was  gradually  drawing  to 
gether,  he  might  ruin  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  and  get  the 
hand  of  Donna  Tullia  in  marriage.  He  himself  was  in 
deed  deeply  implicated  in  the  plots  of  the  Italian  party ; 
but  he  was  only  employed  as  a  spy,  and  in  reality  knew 
no  more  of  the  real  intentions  of  those  he  served  than  did 


SARACINESCA.  87 

Donna  Tullia  herself.  But  the  position  was  sufficiently 
lucrative ;  so  much  so  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  ac 
count  for  his  accession  of  fortune  by  saying  that  an 
uncle  of  his  had  died  and  left  him  money. 

"If  you  expected  Don  Giovanni  to  join  a  mob  of  stu 
dents  in  tearing  up  paving-stones  and  screaming  'Vive  la 
Re*publique ! '  I  am  not  surprised  that  you  are  disappointed 
in  your  expectations,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  rather  scornfully. 

"  That  is  only  Gouache's  idea  of  a  popular  movement," 
answered  Del  Ferice. 

"And  yours,"  returned  Anastase,  lowering  his  mahl- 
stick  and  brushes,  and  turning  sharply  upon  the  Italian 
— "yours  would  be  to  begin  by  stabbing  Cardinal  An- 
tonelli  in  the  back." 

"  You  mistake  me,  my  friend,"  returned  Del  Ferice, 
blandly.  "  If  you  volunteered  to  perform  that  service  to 
Italy,  I  would  certainly  not  dissuade  you.  But  I  would 
certainly  not  offer  you  my  assistance." 

"  Fie  !  How  can  you  talk  like  that  of  murder ! " 
exclaimed  Donna  Tullia.  "  Go  on  with  your  painting, 
Gouache,  and  do  not  be  ridiculous." 

"The  question  of  tyrannicide  is  marvellously  inter 
esting,"  answered  Anastase  in  a  meditative  tone,  as  he 
resumed  his  work,  and  glanced  critically  from  Madame 
Mayer  to  his  canvas  and  back  again. 

"  It  belongs  to  a  class  of  actions  at  which  Del  Ferice 
rejoices,  but  in  which  he  desires  no  part,"  said  Donna 
Tullia. 

"It  seems  to  me  wiser  to  contemplate  accomplishing 
the  good  result  without  any  unnecessary  and  treacherous 
bloodshed,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  sententiously.  Again 
Gouache  smiled  in  his  delicate  satirical  fashion,  and 
glanced  at  Madame  Mayer,  who  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"Moral  reflections  never  sound  so  especially  and  ridicu 
lously  moral  as  in  your  mouth,  Ugo,"  she  said. 

"Why  ?  "  he  asked,  in  an  injured  tone. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know.  Of  course,  we  all  would 
like  to  see  Victor  Emmanuel  in  the  Quirinal,  and  Rome 


88  SARACINESCA. 

the  capital  of  a  free  Italy.  Of  course  we  would  all  like 
to  see  it  accomplished  without  murder  or  bloodshed ;  but 
somehow,  when  you  put  it  into  words,  it  sounds  very 
absurd." 

In  her  brutal  fashion  Madame  Mayer  had  hit  upon  a 
great  truth,  and  Del  Ferice  was  very  much  annoyed.  He 
knew  himself  to  be  a  scoundrel ;  he  knew  Madame  Mayer 
to  be  a  woman  of  very  commonplace  intellect ;  he  won 
dered  why  he  was  not  able  to  deceive  her  more  effectually. 
He  was  often  able  to  direct  her,  he  sometimes  elicited  from 
her  some  expression  of  admiration  at  his  astuteness;  but 
in  spite  of  his  best  efforts,  she  saw  through  him  and 
understood  him  better  than  he  liked. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "that  what  is  honourable  should 
sound  ridiculous  when  it  comes  from  me.  I  like  to  think 
sometimes  that  you  believe  in  me." 

"Oh,  I  do,"  protested  Donna  Tullia,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  manner.  "  I  was  only  laughing.  I  think  you 
are  really  in  earnest.  Only,  you  know,  nowadays,  it  is 
not  the  fashion  to  utter  moralities  in  a  severe  tone,  with  an 
air  of  conviction.  A  little  dash  of  cynicism — you  know, 
a  sort  of  half  sneer — is  so  much  more  chic;  it  gives  a  much 
higher  idea  of  the  morality,  because  it  conveys  the  impres 
sion  that  it  is  utterly  beyond  you.  Ask  Gouache " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  the  artist,  squeezing  a  little  more 
red  from  the  tube  upon  his  palette,  "  one  should  always 
sneer  at  what  one  cannot  reach.  The  fox,  you  remember, 
called  the  grapes  sour.  He  was  probably  right,  for  he  is 
the  most  intelligent  of  animals." 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  what  Giovanni  had  to  say  about 
those  grapes,"  remarked  Donna  Tullia. 

"  Oh,  he  sneered  in  the  most  fashionable  way,"  answered 
Del  Ferice.  "  He  would  have  pleased  you  immensely.  He 
said  that  he  would  be  ruined  by  a  change  of  government, 
and  that  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  fight  against  it.  He 
talked  a  great  deal  about  the  level  of  the  Tiber,  and 
landed  property,  and  the  duties  of  gentlemen.  And  he 
ended  by  saying  he  would  make  the  best  of  any  change 


SARACINESCA.  89 

that  happened  to  come  about,  like  a  thoroughgoing  ego 
tist,  as  he  is  ! " 

"  I  would  like  to  hear  what  you  think  of  Don  Giovanni 
Saracinesca,"  said  Gouache  j  "  and  then  I  would  like  to 
hear  what  he  thinks  of  you." 

"  I  can  tell  you  both,"  answered  Del  Ferice.  "  I  think 
of  him  that  he  is  a  thorough  aristocrat,  full  of  prejudices 
and  money,  unwilling  to  sacrifice  his  convictions  to  his 
wealth  or  his  wealth  to  his  convictions,  intelligent  in  re 
gard  to  his  own  interests  and  blind  to  those  of  others, 
imbued  with  a  thousand  and  one  curious  feudal  notions, 
and  overcome  with  a  sense  of  his  own  importance." 

"  And  what  does  he  think  of  you  ?  "  asked  Anastase, 
working  busily. 

"Oh,  it  is  very  simple,"  returned  Del  Ferice,  with  a 
laugh.  "  He  thinks  I  am  a  great  scoundrel." 

"  Really  !   How  strange !   I  should  not  have  said  that." 

"What?  That  Del  Ferice  is  a  scoundrel?"  asked 
Donna  Tullia,  laughing. 

"  No ;  I  should  not  have  said  it,"  repeated  Anastase, 
thoughtfully.  "  I  should  say  that  our  friend  Del  Ferice 
is  a  man  of  the  most  profound  philanthropic  convictions, 
nobly  devoting  his  life  to  the  pursuit  of  liberty,  fraternity, 
and  equality." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  "  asked  Donna  Tullia,  with 
a  half-comic  glance  at  Ugo,  who  looked  uncommonly 
grave. 

"  Madame,"  returned  Gouache,  "  I  never  permit  myself 
to  think  otherwise  of  any  of  my  friends." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  remarked  Del  Ferice,  "  I  am  de 
lighted  at  the  compliment,  my  dear  fellow ;  but  I  must 
infer  that  your  judgment  of  your  friends  is  singularly 
limited." 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  Gouache.  "  But  the  number  of 
my  friends  is  not  large,  and  I  myself  am  very  enthusi 
astic.  I  look  forward  to  the  day  when  '  liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity '  shall  be  inscribed  in  letters  of  flame,  in 
the  most  expensive  Bengal  lights  if  you  please,  over  the 


90  SARACINESCA. 

porte  coch&re  of  every  palace  in  Borne,  not  to  mention  the 
churches.  I  look  forward  to  that  day,  but  I  have  not  the 
slightest  expectation  of  ever  seeing  it.  Moreover,  if  it 
ever  comes,  I  will  pack  up  my  palette  and  brushes  and 
go  somewhere  else  by  the  nearest  route." 

"  Good  heavens,  Gouache  !  "  exclaimed  Donna  Tullia  ; 
"  how  can  you  talk  like  that  ?  It  is  really  dreadfully 
irreverent  to  jest  about  our  most  sacred  convictions,  or  to 
say  that  we  desire  to  see  those  words  written  over  the 
doors  of  our  churches  ! " 

"  I  am  not  jesting.  I  worship  Victor  Hugo.  I  love  to 
dream  of  the  universal  republic — it  has  immense  artistic 
attractions — the  fierce  yelling  crowd,  the  savage  faces,  the 
red  caps,  the  terrible  maenad  women  urging  the  brawny 
ruffians  on  to  shed  more  blood,  the  lurid  light  of  burning 
churches,  the  pale  and  trembling  victims  dragged  beneath 
the  poised  knife, — ah,  it  is  superb,  it  has  stupendous 
artistic  capabilities  !  But  for  myself — bah  !  I  am  a  good 
Catholic — I  wish  nobody  any  harm,  for  life  is  very  gay 
after  all." 

At  this  remarkable  exposition  of  Anastase  Gouache's 
views  in  regard  to  the  utility  of  revolutions,  Del  Ferice 
laughed  loudly ;  but  Anastase  remained  perfectly  grave, 
for  he  was  perfectly  sincere.  Del  Ferice,  to  whom  the 
daily  whispered  talk  of  revolution  in  Donna  Tullia's 
circle  was  mere  child's  play,  was  utterly  indifferent,  and 
suffered  himself  to  be  amused  by  the  young  artist's  vaga 
ries.  But  Donna  Tullia,  who  longed  to  see  herself  the 
centre  of  a  real  plot,  thought  that  she  was  being  laughed 
at,  and  pouted  her  red  lips  and  frowned  her  displeasure. 

"  I  believe  you  have  no  convictions  ! "  she  said  angrily. 
"While  we  are  risking  our  lives  and  fortunes  for  the 
good  cause,  you  sit  here  in  your  studio  dreaming  of  bar 
ricades  and  guillotines,  merely  as  subjects  for  pictures 
— you  even  acknowledge  that  in  case  we  produce  a  revo 
lution  you  would  go  away." 

"  Not  without  finishing  this  portrait,"  returned  Ana 
stase,  quite  unmoved.  "  It  is  an  exceedingly  good  like- 


SARACINESCA.  91 

ness ;  and  in  case  you  should  ever  disappear — you  know 
people  sometimes  do  in  revolutions— or  if  by  any  unlucky 
accident  your  beautiful  neck  should  chance  beneath  that 
guillotine  you  just  mentioned, — why,  then,  this  canvas 
would  be  the  most  delightful  souvenir  of  many  pleasant 
mornings,  would  it  not  ?  " 

"  You  are  incorrigible,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  with  a  slight 
laugh.  "  You  cannot  be  serious  for  a  moment." 

"It  is  very  hard  to  paint  you  when  your  expression 
changes  so  often,"  replied  Anastase,  calmly. 

"  I  am  not  in  a  good  humour  for  sitting  to  you  this 
morning.  I  wish  you  would  amuse  me,  Del  Ferice.  You 
generally  can." 

"  I  thought  politics  amused  you " 

"They  interest  me.  But  Gouache's  ideas  are  detestable." 

"  Will  you  not  give  us  some  of  your  own,  Madame  ?  " 
inquired  the  painter,  stepping  back  from  his  canvas  to  get 
a  better  view  of  his  work. 

"  Oh,  mine  are  very  simple,"  answered  Donna  Tullia. 
"  Victor  Emmanuel,  Garibaldi,  and  a  free  press." 

"  A  combination  of  monarchy,  republicanism,  and  popu 
lar  education — not  very  interesting,"  remarked  Gouache, 
still  eyeing  his  picture. 

"  No ;  there  would  be  nothing  for  you  to  paint,  except 
portraits  of  the  liberators " 

"There  is  a  great  deal  of  that  done.  I  have  seen 
them  in  every  cafe  in  the  north  of  Italy,"  interrupted 
the  artist.  "  I  would  like  to  paint  Garibaldi.  He  has  a 
fine  head." 

"  I  will  ask  him  to  sit  to  you  when  he  comes  here." 

"  When  he  comes  I  shall  be  here  no  longer,"  answered 
Gouache.  "They  will  whitewash  the  Corso,  they  will 
make  a  restaurant  of  the  Colosseum,  and  they  will  hoist 
the  Italian  flag  on  the  cross  of  St.  Peter's.  Then  I  will 
go  to  Constantinople ;  there  will  still  be  some  years  be 
fore  Turkey  is  modernised." 

"  Artists  are  hopeless  people,"  said  Del  Ferice.  "  They 
are  utterly  illogical,  and  it  is  impossible  to  deal  with  them. 


92  SAKACINESCA. 

If  you  like  old  cities,  why  do  you  not  like  old  women  ? 
Why  would  you  not  rather  paint  Donna  Tullia's  old 
Countess  than  Donna  Tullia  herself  ?  " 

"  That  is  precisely  the  opposite  ca.se/7  replied  Anastase, 
quietly.  "  The  works  of  man  are  never  so  beautiful  as 
when  they  are  falling  to  decay ;  the  works  of  God  are  most 
beautiful  when  they  are  young.  You  might  as  well  say 
that  because  wine  improves  with  age,  therefore  horses  do 
likewise.  The  faculty  of  comparison  is  lacking  in  your 
mind,  my  dear  Del  Ferice,  as  it  is  generally  lacking  in  the 
minds  of  true  patriots.  Great  reforms  and  great  revolu 
tions  are  generally  brought  about  by  people  of  fierce  and 
desperate  convictions,  like  yours,  who  go  to  extreme 
lengths,  and  never  know  when  to  stop.  The  quintessence 
of  an  artist's  talent  is  precisely  that  faculty  of  comparison, 
that  gift  of  knowing  when  the  thing  he  is  doing  corre 
sponds  as  nearly  as  he  can  make  it  with  the  thing  he  has 
imagined." 

There  was  no  tinge  of  sarcasm  in  Gouache's  voice  as  he 
imputed  to  Del  Ferice  the  savage  enthusiasm  of  a  revolu 
tionist.  But  when  Gouache,  who  was  by  no  means  calm 
by  nature,  said  anything  in  a  particularly  gentle  tone,  there 
was  generally  a  sting  in  it,  and  Del  Ferice  reflected  upon 
the  mean  traffic  in  stolen  information  by  which  he  got  his 
livelihood,  and  was  ashamed.  Somehow,  too,  Donna  Tullia 
felt  that  the  part  she  fancied  herself  playing  was  contempt 
ible  enough  when  compared  with  the  hard  work,  the  earn 
est  purpose,  and  the  remarkable  talent  of  the  young  artist. 
But  though  she  felt  her  inferiority,  she  would  have  died 
rather  than  own  it,  even  to  Del  Ferice.  She  knew  that 
for  months  she  had  talked  with  Del  Ferice,  with  Valdarno, 
with  Casalverde,  even  with  the  melancholy  and  ironical 
Spicca,  concerning  conspiracies  and  deeds  of  darkness  of 
all  kinds,  and  she  knew  that  she  and  they  might  go  on 
talking  for  ever  in  the  same  strain  without  producing  the 
smallest  effect  on  events ;  but  she  never  to  the  very  end 
relinquished  the  illusion  she  cherished  so  dearly,  that  she 
was  really  and  truly  a  conspirator,  and  that  if  any  one  of 


SABACINESCA.  93 

her  light-headed  acquaintance  betrayed  the  rest,  they 
might  all  be  ordered  out  of  Rome  in  four-and-twenty 
hours,  or  might  even  disappear  into  that  long  range  of 
dark  buildings  to  the  left  of  the  colonnade  of  St.  Peter's, 
martyrs  to  the  cause  of  their  own  self-importance  and 
semi-theatrical  vanity.  There  were  many  knots  of  such 
self-fancied  conspirators  in  those  days,  whose  wildest  deed 
of  daring  was  to  whisper  across  a  glass  of  champagne  in 
a  ball-room,  or  over  a  tumbler  of  Velletri  wine  in  a  Tras- 
teverine  cellar,  the  magic  and  awe-inspiring  words,  "Viva 
Garibaldi !  Viva  Vittorio  ! "  They  accomplished  nothing. 
The  same  men  and  women  are  now  grumbling  and  regret 
ting  the  flesh-pots  of  the  old  Government,  or  whispering 
in  impotent  discontent  "  Viva  la  Eepubblica ! "  and  they 
and  their  descendants  will  go  on  whispering  something 
to  each  other  to  the  end  of  time,  while  mightier  hands 
than  theirs  are  tearing  down  empires  and  building  up 
irresistible  coalitions,  and  drawing  red  pencil-marks 
through  the  geography  of  Europe. 

The  conspirators  of  those  days  accomplished  nothing 
after  Pius  IX.  returned  from  Gaeta ;  the  only  men  who 
were  of  any  use  at  all  were  those  who,  like  Del  Ferice, 
had  sources  of  secret  information,  and  basely  sold  their 
scraps  of  news.  But  even  they  were  of  small  impor 
tance.  The  moment  had  not  come,  and  all  the  talking 
and  whispering  and  tale-bearing  in  the  world  could  not 
hasten  events,  nor  change  their  course.  But  Donna 
Tullia  was  puffed  up  with  a  sense  of  her  importance,  and 
Del  Ferice  managed  to  attract  just  as  much  attention  to 
his  harmless  chatter  about  progress  as  would  permit  him 
undisturbed  to  carry  on  his  lucrative  traffic  in  secret 
information. 

Donna  Tullia,  who  was  not  in  the  least  artistic,  and 
who  by  no  means  appreciated  the  merits  of  the  portrait 
Gouache  was  painting,  was  very  far  from  comprehending 
his  definition  of  artistic  comparison ;  but  Del  Ferice  un 
derstood  it  very  well.  Donna  Tullia  had  much  foreign 
blood  in  her  veins,  like  most  of  her  class;  but  Del 

Vol.  10—5 


94  SAKACINESCA. 

Ferice's  obscure  descent  was  in  all  probability  purely 
Italian,  and  lie  had  inherited  the  common  instinct  in 
matters  of  art  which  is  a  part  of  the  Italian  birthright. 
He  had  recognised  Gouache's  wonderful  talent,  and  had 
first  brought  Donna  Tullia  to  his  studio — a  matter  of 
little  difficulty  when  she  had  learned  that  the  young 
artist  had  already  a  reputation.  It  pleased  her  to  fancy 
that  by  telling  him  to  paint  her  portrait  she  might  pose 
as  his  patroness,  and  hereafter  reap  the  reputation  of 
having  influenced  his  career.  For  fashion,  and  the  de 
sire  to  be  the  representative  of  fashion,  led  Donna  Tullia 
hither  and  thither  as  a  lapdog  is  led  by  a  string ;  and 
there  is  nothing  more  in  the  fashion  than  to  patronise  a 
fashionable  portrait-painter. 

But  after  Anastase  G-ouache  had  thus  delivered  him 
self  of  his  views  upon  Del  Ferice  and  the  faculty  of 
artistic  comparison,  the  conversation  languished,  and 
Donna  Tullia  grew  restless.  "  She  had  sat  enough,"  she 
said;  and  as  her  expression  was  not  favourable  to  the 
portrait,  Anastase  did  not  contradict  her,  but  presently 
suffered  her  to  depart  in  peace  with  her  devoted  adorer 
at  her  heels.  And  when  they  were  gone,  Anastase  lighted 
a  cigarette,  and  took  a  piece  of  charcoal  and  sketched  a 
caricature  of  Donna  Tullia  in  a  liberty  cap,  in  a  fine 
theatrical  attitude,  invoking  the  aid  of  Del  Ferice,  who 
appeared  as  the  Angel  of  Death,  with  the  guillotine  in  the 
background.  Having  put  the  finishing  touches  to  this 
work  of  art,  Anastase  locked  his  studio  and  went  to 
breakfast,  humming  an  air  from  the  "  Belle  Helene." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

When  Corona  reached  home  she  went  to  her  own  small 
boudoir,  with  the  intention  of  remaining  there  for  an  hour 
if  she  could  do  so  without  being  disturbed.  There  was  a 
prospect  of  this ;  for  on  inquiry  she  ascertained  that  her 


SABACINESCA.  95 

husband  was  not  yet  dressed,  and  his  dressing  took  a  very 
long  time.  He  had  a  cosmopolitan  valet,  who  alone  of 
living  men  understood  the  art  of  fitting  the  artificial  and 
the  natural  Astrardente  together.  Corona  believed  this 
man  to  be  an  accomplished  scoundrel ;  but  she  never  had 
any  proof  that  he  was  anything  worse  than  a  very  clever 
servant,  thoroughly  unscrupulous  where  his  master's  in 
terests  or  his  own  were  concerned.  The  old  Duca  believed 
in  him  sincerely  and  trusted  him  alone,  feeling  that  since 
he  could  never  be  a  hero  in  his  valet's  eyes,  he  might  as 
well  take  advantage  of  that  misfortune  in  order  to  gain  a 
confident. 

Corona  found  three  or  four  letters  upon  her  table,  and 
sat  down  to  read  them,  letting  her  fur  mantle  drop  to  the 
floor,  and  putting  her  small  feet  out  towards  the  fire,  for 
the  pavement  of  the  church  had  been  cold. 

She  was  destined  to  pass  an  eventful  day,  it  seemed. 
One  of  the  letters  was  from  Giovanni  Saracinesca.  It 
was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  written  to  her,  and  she  was 
greatly  surprised  on  finding  his  name  at  the  foot  of  the 
page.  He  wrote  a  strong  clear  handwriting,  entirely 
without  adornment  of  penmanship,  close  and  regular  and 
straight :  there  was  an  air  of  determination  about  it  which 
was  sympathetic,  and  a  conciseness  of  expression  which 
startled  Corona,  as  though  she  had  heard  the  man  him 
self  speaking  to  her. 

"I  write,  dear  Duchessa,  because  I  covet  your  good 
opinion,  and  my  motive  is  therefore  before  all  things  an 
interested  one.  I  would  not  have  you  think  that  I  had 
idly  asked  your  advice  about  a  thing  so  important  to  me 
as  my  marriage,  in  order  to  discard  your  counsel  at  the 
first  opportunity.  There  was  too  much  reason  in  the  view 
you  took  of  the  matter  to  admit  of  my  not  giving  your 
opinion  all  the  weight  I  could,  even  if  I  had  not  already 
determined  upon  the  very  course  you  advised.  Circum 
stances  have  occurred,  however,  which  have  almost 
induced  me  to  change  my  mind.  I  have  had  an  inter- 


96  SARACINESCA. 

view  with,  my  father,  who  has  put  the  matter  very  plainly 
before  me.  I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you  this,  but  I  feel 
that  I  owe  it  to  you  to  explain  myself,  however  much 
you  may  despise  me  for  what  I  am  going  to  say.  It  is 
very  simple,  nevertheless.  My  father  has  informed  me 
that  by  my  conduct  I  have  caused  my  name  to  be  coupled 
in  the  mouth  of  the  gossips  with  that  of  a  person  very 
dear  to  me,  but  whom  I  am  unfortunately  prevented  from 
marrying.  He  has  convinced  me  that  I  owe  to  this  lady, 
who,  I  confess,  takes  no  interest  whatever  in  me,  the 
only  reparation  possible  to  be  made — that  of  taking  a 
wife,  and  thus  publicly  demonstrating  that  there  was 
never  any  truth  in  what  has  been  said.  As  a  marriage 
will  probably  be  forced  upon  me  some  day,  it  is  as  well  to 
let  things  take  their  course  at  once,  in  order  that  a  step 
so  disagreeable  to  myself  may  at  least  distantly  profit 
one  whom  I  love  in  removing  me  from  the  appearance  of 
being  a  factor  in  her  life.  The  gossip  about  me  has  never 
reached  your  ears,  but  if  it  should,  you  will  be  the  better 
able  to  understand  my  position. 

"  Do  not  think,  therefore,  that  if  I  do  not  follow  your 
advice  I  am  altogether  inconsistent,  or  that  I  wantonly 
presumed  to  consult  you  without  any  intention  of  being 
guided  by  you.  Forgive  me  also  this  letter,  which  I  am 
impelled  to  write  from  somewhat  mean  motives  of  vanity, 
in  the  hope  of  not  altogether  forfeiting  your  opinion; 
and  especially  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  I  am  at  all  times 
the  most  obedient  of  your  servants, 

"  GIOVANNI  SARACINESCA." 

Of  what  use  was  it  that  she  had  that  morning  deter 
mined  to  forget  Giovanni,  since  he  had  the  power  of  thus 
bringing  himself  before  her  by  means  of  a  scrap  of  paper  ? 
Corona's  hand  closed  upon  the  letter  convulsively,  and 
for  a  moment  the  room  seemed  to  swim  around  her. 

So  there  was  some  one  whom  he  loved,  some  one  for 
whose  fair  name  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  himself  even 
to  the  extent  of  marrying  against  his  will.  Some  one, 


SARACINESCA.  97 

too,  who  not  only  did  not  love  Mm,  but  took  no  interest 
whatever  in  him.  Those  were  his  own  words,  and  they 
must  be  true,  for  he  never  lied.  That  accounted  for  his 
accompanying  Donna  Tullia  to  the  picnic.  He  was  going 
to  marry  her  after  all.  To  save  the  woman  he  loved  so 
hopelessly  from  the  mere  suspicion  of  being  loved  by  him, 
he  was  going  to  tie  himself  for  life  to  the  first  who  would 
marry  him.  That  would  never  prevent  the  gossips  from 
saying  that  he  loved  this  other  woman  as  much  as  ever. 
It  could  do  her  no  great  harm,  since  she  took  no  interest 
whatever  in  him.  Who  could  she  be,  this  cold  creature, 
whom  even  Giovanni  could  not  move  to  interest  ?  It  was 
absurd — the  letter  was  absurd — the  whole  thing  was 
absurd !  None  but  a  madman  would  think  of  pursuing 
such  a  course ;  and  why  should  he  think  it  necessary  to 
confide  his  plans — his  very  foolish  plans — to  her,  Corona 
d'Astrardente, — why  ?  Ah,  Giovanni,  how  different 
things  might  have  been  ! 

Corona  rose  angrily  from  her  seat  and  leaned  against 
the  broad  chimney-piece,  and  looked  at  the  clock — it  was 
nearly  mid-day.  He  might  marry  whom  he  pleased,  and 
be  welcome — what  was  it  to  her  ?  He  might  marry  and 
sacrifice  himself  if  he  pleased — what  was  it  to  her  ? 

She  thought  of  her  own  life.  She,  too,  had  sacrificed 
herself ;  she,  too,  had  tied  herself  for  life  to  a  man  she 
despised  in  her  heart,  and  she  had  done  it  for  an  object 
she  had  thought  good.  She  looked  steadily  at  the  clock, 
for  she  would  not  give  way,  nor  bend  her  head  and  cry 
bitter  tears  again ;  but  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  never 
theless. 

"Giovanni,  you  must  not  do  it — you  must  not  do  it!" 
Her  lips  formed  the  words  without  speaking  them,  and 
repeated  the  thought  again  and  again.  Her  heart  beat 
fast  and  her  cheeks  flushed  darkly.  She  spread  out  the 
crumpled  letter  and  read  it  once  more.  As  she  read,  the 
most  intense  curiosity  seized  her  to  know  who  this 
woman  might  be  whom  Giovanni  so  loved  j  and  with  her 
curiosity  there  was  a  new  feeling — an  utterly  hateful  and 


98  SARACINESCA. 

hating  passion — something  so  strong,  that  it  suddenly 
dried  her  tears  and  sent  the  blood  from  her  cheeks  back 
to  her  heart.  Her  white  hand  was  clenched,  and  her 
eyes  were  on  fire.  Ah,  if  she  could  only  find  that  woman 
he  loved !  if  she  could  only  see  her  dead — dead  with 
Giovanni  Saracinesca  there  upon  the  floor  before  her ! 
As  she  thought  of  it,  she  stamped  her  foot  upon  the  thick 
carpet,  and  her  face  grew  paler.  She  did  not  know  what 
it  was  that  she  felt,  but  it  completely  overmastered  her. 
Padre  Filippo  would  be  pleased,  she  thought,  for  she 
knew  how  in  that  moment  she  hated  Giovanni  Sara 
cinesca. 

With  a  sudden  impulse  she  again  sat  down  and  opened 
the  letter  next  to  her  hand.  It  was  a  gossiping  epistle 
from  a  friend  in  Paris,  full  of  stories  of  the  day,  excla 
mations  upon  fashion  and  all  kinds  of  emptiness  ;  she 
was  about  to  throw  it  down  impatiently  and  take  up  the 
next  when  her  eyes  caught  Giovanni's  name. 

"  Of  course  it  is  nofr  true  that  Saracinesca  is  to  marry 
Madame  Mayer,  .  .  .  "  were  the  words  she  read.  But 
that  was  all.  There  chanced  to  have  been  just  room  for 
the  sentence  at  the  foot  of  the  page,  and  by  the  time  her 
friend  had  turned  over  the  leaf,  she  had  already  for 
gotten  what  she  had  written,  and  was  running  on  with  a 
different  idea.  It  seemed  as  though  Corona  were  haunted 
by  Giovanni  at  every  turn ;  but  she  had  not  reached  the 
end  yet,  for  one  letter  still  remained.  She  tore  open  the 
envelope,  and  found  that  the  contents  consisted  of  a  few 
lines  penned  in  a  small  and  irregular  hand,  without  sig 
nature.  There  was  an  air  of  disguise  about  the  whole, 
which  was  unpleasant;  it  was  written  upon  a  common 
sort  of  paper,  and  had  come  through  the  city  post.  It 
ran  as  follows  : — 

"  The  Duchessa  d'Astrardente  reminds  us  of  the  fable 
of  the  dog  in  the  horse's  manger,  for  she  can  neither  eat 
herself  nor  let  others  eat.  She  will  not  accept  Don 
Giovanni  Saracinesca's  devotion,  but  she  effectually  pre 
vents  him  from  fulfilling  his  engagements  to  others." 


SABACINESCA.  99 

If  Corona  had  been  in  her  ordinary  mood,  she  would 
very  likely  have  laughed  at  the  anonymous  communica 
tion.  She  had  formerly  received  more  than  one  passion 
ate  declaration,  not  signed  indeed,  but  accompanied 
always  by  some  clue  to  the  identity  of  the  writer,  ancl 
she  had  carelessly  thrown  them  into  the  fire.  But  there 
was  no  such  indication  here  whereby  she  might  discover 
who  it  was  who  had  undertaken  to  criticise  her,  to  cast 
upon  her  so  unjust  an  accusation.  Moreover,  she  was 
very  angry  and  altogether  thrown  out  of  her  usually  calm 
humour.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  go  to  her  husband, 
and  in  the  strength  of  her  innocence  to  show  him  the 
letter.  Then  she  laughed  bitterly  as  she  thought  how 
the  selfish  old  dandy  would  scoff  at  her  sensitiveness,  and 
how  utterly  incapable  he  would  be  of  discovering  the 
offender  or  of  punishing  the  offence.  Then  again  her 
face  was  grave,  and  she  asked  herself  whether  it  was 
true  that  she  was  innocent;  whether  she  were  not  really 
to  be  blamed,  if  perhaps  she  had  really  prevented  Gio 
vanni  from  marrying  Donna  Tullia. 

But  if  that  were  true,  she  must  herself  be  the  woman 
he  spoke  of  in  his  letter.  Any  other  woman  would  have 
suspected  as  much.  Corona  went  to  the  window,  and 
for  an  instant  there  was  a  strange  light  of  pleasure  in 
her  face.  Then  she  grew  very  thoughtful,  and  her  whole 
mood  changed.  She  could  not  conceive  it  possible  that 
Giovanni  so  loved  her  as  to  marry  for  her  sake.  Besides, 
no  one  could  ever  have  breathed  a  word  of  him  in  con 
nection  with  herself — until  this  abominable  anonymous 
letter  was  written. 

The  thought  that  she  might,  after  all,  be  the  "  person 
very  dear  to  him,"  the  one  who  "  took  no  interest  what 
ever  in  him,"  had  nevertheless  crossed  her  mind,  and 
had  given  her  for  one  moment  a  sense  of  wild  and  in 
describable  pleasure.  Then  she  remembered  what  she 
had  felt  before ;  how  angry,  how  utterly  beside  herself, 
she  had  been  at  the  thought  of  another  woman  being 
loved  by  him,  and  she  suddenly  understood  that  she  was 


100  SAEACINESCA. 

jealous  of  her.  The  very  thought  revived  in  her  the 
belief  that  it  was  not  she  herself  who  was  thus  influenc 
ing  the  life  of  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  but  another,  and  she 
sat  silent  and  pale. 

Of  course  it  was  another !  What  had  she  done,  what 
word  had  she  spoken,  whereby  the  world  might  pretend 
to  believe  that  she  controlled  this  man's  actions  ?  "  Ful 
filling  his  engagements,"  the  letter  said,  too.  It  must 
have  been  written  by  an  ignorant  person — by  some  one 
who  had  no  idea  of  what  was  passing,  and  who  wrote  at 
random,  hoping  to  touch  a  sensitive  chord,  to  do  some 
harm,  to  inflict  some  pain,  in  petty  vengeance  for  a 
fancied  slight.  But  in  her  heart,  though  she  crushed 
down  the  instinct,  she  would  have  believed  the  anony 
mous  jest  well  founded,  for  the  sake  of  believing,  too, 
that  Giovanni  Saracinesca  was  ready  to  lay  his  life  at 
her  feet — although  in  that  belief  she  would  have  felt 
that  she  was  committing  a  mortal  sin. 

She  went  back  to  her  interview  that  morning  with 
Padre  Filippo,  and  thought  over  all  she  had  said  and  all 
he  had  answered  ;  how  she  had  been  willing  to  admit 
the  possibility  of  Giovanni's  love,  and  how  sternly  the 
confessor  had  ruled  down  the  clause,  and  told  her  there 
should  never  arise  such  a  doubt  in  her  mind ;  how  she 
had  scorned  herself  for  being  capable  of  seeking  love 
where  there  was  none,  and  how  she  had  sworn  that  there 
should  be  no  perhaps  in  the  matter.  It  seemed  very 
hard  to  do  right,  but  she  would  try  to  see  where  the 
right  lay.  In  the  first  place,  she  should  burn  the  anony 
mous  letter,  and  never  condescend  to  think  of  it ;  and 
she  should  also  burn  Giovanni's,  because  it  would  be  an 
injustice  to  him  to  keep  it.  She  looked  once  more  at 
the  unsigned,  ill-written  page,  and,  with  a  little  scornful 
laugh,  threw  it  from  where  she  sat  into  the  fire  with  its 
envelope;  then  she  took  Giovanni's  note,  and  would 
have  done  the  same,  but  her  hand  trembled,  and  the 
crumpled  bit  of  paper  fell  upon  the  hearth.  She  rose 
from  her  chair  quickly,  and  took  it  up  again,  kneeling 


SARACINESCA.  101 

before  the  fire,  like  some  beautiful  dark  priestess  of  old 
feeding  the  flames  of  a  sacred  altar.  She  smoothed  the 
paper  out  once  more,  and  once  more  read  the  even 
characters,  and  looked  long  at  the  signature,  and  back 
again  to  the  writing. 

"  This  lady,  who,  I  confess,  takes  no  interest  whatever 
in  me.  .  .  ." 

"How  could  he  say  it!"  she  exclaimed  aloud.  "Oh, 
if  I  knew  who  she  was  ! "  With  an  impatient  movement 
she  thrust  the  letter  among  the  coals,  and  watched  the 
fire  curl  it  and  burn  it,  from  white  to  brown  and  from 
brown  to  black,  till  it  was  all  gone.  Then  she  rose  to 
her  feet  and  left  the  room. 

Her  husband  certainly  did  not  guess  that  the  Duchessa 
d'Astrardente  had  spent  so  eventful  a  morning ;  and  if 
any  one  had  told  him  that  his  wife  had  been  through  a 
dozen  stages  of  emotion,  he  would  have  laughed,  and 
would  have  told  his  informant  that  Corona  was  not  of 
the  sort  who  experience  violent  passions.  That  evening 
they  went  to  the  opera  together,  and  the  old  man  was  in 
an  unusually  cheerful  humour.  A  new  coat  had  just 
arrived  from  Paris,  and  the  padding  had  attained  a  higher 
degree  of  scientific  perfection  than  heretofore.  Corona 
also  looked  more  beautiful  than  even  her  husband  ever 
remembered  to  have  seen  her ;  she  wore  a  perfectly  simple 
gown  of  black  satin  without  the  smallest  relief  of  colour, 
and  upon  her  neck  the  famous  Astrardente  necklace  of 
pearls,  three  strings  of  even  thickness,  each  jewel  exquis 
itely  white  and  just  lighted  in  its  shadow  by  a  delicate 
pink  tinge — such  a  necklace  as  an  empress  might  have 
worn.  In  the  raven  masses  of  her  hair  there  was  not  the 
least  ornament,  nor  did  any  flower  enhance  the  rich 
blackness  of  its  silken  coils.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
imagine  greater  simplicity  than  Corona  showed  in  her 
dress,  but  it  would  be  hard  to  conceive  of  any  woman 
who  possessed  by  virtue  of  severe  beauty  a  more  indubit 
able  right  to  dispense  with  ornament. 

The  theatre  was  crowded.     There  was  a  performance 


1 02  SARACINESCA. 

of  "Norma,"  for  which,  several  celebrated  artists  had 
been  engaged — an  occurrence  so  rare  in  Rome,  that  the 
theatre  was  absolutely  full.  The  Astrardente  box  was 
upon  the  second  tier,  just  where  the  amphitheatre  began 
to  curve.  There  was  room  in  it  for  four  or  five  persons 
to  see  the  stage. 

The  Duchessa  and  her  husband  arrived  in  the  middle 
of  the  first  act,  and  remained  alone  until  it  was  over. 
Corona  was  extremely  fond  of  "  Norma,"  and  after  she 
was  seated  never  took  her  eyes  from  the  stage.  Astrar 
dente,  on  the  other  hand,  maintained  his  character  as  a 
man  of  no  illusions,  and  swept  the  house  with  his  small 
opera-glass.  The  instrument  itself  was  like  him,  and 
would  have  been  appropriate  for  a  fine  lady  of  the  First 
Empire ;  it  was  of  mother-of-pearl,  made  very  small  and 
light,  the  metal-work  upon  it  heavily  gilt  and  ornamented 
with  turquoises.  The  old  man  glanced  from  time  to  time 
at  the  stage,  and  then  again  settled  himself  to  the  study 
of  the  audience,  which  interested  him  far  more  than  the 
opera. 

"  Every  human  being  you  ever  heard  of  is  here,"  he 
remarked  at  the  end  of  the  first  act.  "  Really  I  should 
think  you  would  find  it  worth  while  to  look  at  your 
magnificent  fellow-creatures,  my  dear." 

Corona  looked  slowly  round  the  house.  She  had  ex 
cellent  eyes,  and  never  used  a  glass.  She  saw  the  same 
faces  she  had  seen  for  five  years,  the  same  occasional 
flash  of  beauty,  the  same  average  number  of  over-dressed 
women,  the  same  paint,  the  same  feathers,  the  same  jewels. 
She  saw  opposite  to  her  Madame  Mayer,  with  the  elderly 
countess  whom  she  patronised  for  the  sake  of  deafness, 
and  found  convenient  as  a  sort  of  flying  chaperon.  The 
countess  could  not  hear  much  of  the  music,  but  she  was 
fond  of  the  world  and  liked  to  be  seen,  and  she  could 
not  hear  at  all  what  Del  Ferice  said  in  an  undertone  to 
Madame  Mayer.  Sufficient  to  her  were  the  good  things 
of  the  day  ;  the  rest  was  in  no  way  her  business.  There 
was  Yaldafno  in  the  club-box,  with  a  knot  of  other  men 


SARACINESCA.  103 

of  his  own  stamp.  There  were  the  Rocca,  mother  and 
daughter  and  son — a  boy  of  eighteen — and  a  couple  of 
men  in  the  back  of  the  box.  Everybody  was  there,  as  her 
husband  had  said ;  and  as  she  dropped  her  glance  toward 
the  stalls,  she  was  aware  of  Giovanni  Saracinesca's  black 
eyes  looking  anxiously  up  to  her.  A  faint  smile  crossed 
her  serene  face,  and  almost  involuntarily  she  nodded  to 
him  and  then  looked  away.  Many  men  were  watching 
her,  and  bowed  as  she  glanced  at  them,  and  she  bent  her 
head  to  each ;  but  there  was  no  smile  for  any  save  Gio 
vanni,  and  when  she  looked  again  to  where  he  had  been 
standing  with  his  back  to  the  stage,  he  was  gone  from 
his  place. 

"  They  are  the  same  old  things,"  said  Astrardente,  "  but 
they  are  still  very  amusing.  Madame  Mayer  always 
seems  to  get  the  wrong  man  into  her  box.  She  would 
give  all  those  diamonds  to  have  Giovanni  Saracinesca 
instead  of  that  newsmonger  fellow.  If  he  comes  here 
I  will  send  him  across." 

"  Perhaps  she  likes  Del  Ferice,"  suggested  Corona. 

"He  is  a  good  lapdog — a  very  good  dog,"  answered  her 
husband.  "  He  cannot  bite  at  all,  and  his  bark  is  so  soft 
that  you  would  take  it  for  the  mewing  of  a  kitten.  He 
fetches  and  carries  admirably." 

"  Those  are  good  points,  but  not  interesting  ones.  He 
is  very  tiresome  with  his  eternal  puns  and  insipid  com 
pliments,  and  his  gossip." 

"  But  he  is  so  very  harmless,"  answered  Astrardente, 
with  compassionate  scorn.  "  He  is  incapable  of  doing  an 
injury.  Donna  Tullia  is  wise  in  adopting  him  as  her 
slave.  She  would  not  be  so  safe  with  Saracinesca,  for 
instance.  If  you  feel  the  need  of  an  admirer,  my  dear, 
take  Del  Ferice.  I  have  no  objection  to  him." 

"Why  should  I  need  admirers  ?  "  asked  Corona,  quietly. 

"  I  was  merely  jesting,  my  love.  Is  not  your  own  hus 
band  the  greatest  of  your  admirers,  and  your  devoted 
slave  into  the  bargain  ?  "  Old  Astrardente's  face  twisted 
itself  into  the  semblance  of  a  smile,  as  he  leaned  towards 


104  SARACINESCA. 

his  young  wife,  lowering  his  cracked  voice  to  a  thin  whis- 
per.  He  was  genuinely  in  love  with  her,  and  lost  no  oppor 
tunity  of  telling  her  so.  She  smiled  a  little  wearily. 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  said.  She  had  often 
wondered  how  it  was  that  this  aged  creature,  who  had 
never  been  faithful  to  any  attachment  in  his  life  for  five 
months,  did  really  seem  to  love  her  just  as  he  had  done 
for  five  years.  It  was  perhaps  the  greatest  triumph  she 
could  have  attained,  though  she  never  thought  of  it  in 
that  light ;  but  though  she  could  not  respect  her  husband 
very  much,  she  could  not  think  unkindly  of  him — for,  as 
she  said,  he  was  very  good  to  her.  She  often  reproached 
herself  because  he  wearied  her;  she  believed  that  she 
should  have  taken  more  pleasure  in  his  admiration. 

"  I  cannot  help  being  good  to  you,  my  angel,"  he  said. 
"  How  could  I  be  otherwise  ?  Do  I  not  love  you  most 
passionately  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  think  so,"  Corona  answered.  As  she  spoke 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Her  heart  leaped  wildly, 
and  she  turned  a  little  pale. 

"  The  devil  seize  these  visitors  ! "  muttered  old  Astrar- 
dente,  annoyed  beyond  measure  at  being  interrupted 
when  making  love  to  his  wife.  "  I  suppose  we  must  let 
them  in  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so,"  assented  the  Duchessa,  with  forced 
calm.  Her  husband  opened  the  door,  and  Giovanni  Sara- 
cinesca  entered,  hat  in  hand. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Astrardente,  rather  harshly. 

"I  trust  I  am  not  disturbing  you,"  replied  Giovanni, 
still  standing.  He  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the  old 
man's  inhospitable  tone. 

"  Oh  no ;  not  in  the  least,"  said  the  latter,  quickly  re 
gaining  his  composure.  "Pray  sit  down;  the  act  will 
begin  in  a  moment." 

Giovanni  established  himself  upon  the  chair  immedi 
ately  behind  the  Duchessa.  He  had  come  to  talk,  and  he 
anticipated  that  during  the  second  act  he  would  have  an 
excellent  opportunity. 


SAKACINESCA.  105 

"I  hear  you  enjoyed  yourselves  yesterday,"  said  Corona, 
turning  her  head  so  as  to  speak  more  easily. 

"  Indeed !  "  Giovanni  answered,  and  a  shade  of  annoy 
ance  crossed  his  face.  "  And  who  was  your  informant, 
Duchessa  ?  " 

"  Donna  Tullia.  I  met  her  this  morning.  She  said  you 
amused  them  all — kept  them  laughing  the  whole  day." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  statement ! "  exclaimed  Gio 
vanni.  "It  shows  how  one  may  unconsciously  furnish 
matter  for  mirth.  I  do  not  recollect  having  talked  much 
to  any  one.  It  was  a  noisy  party  enough,  however." 

"Perhaps  Donna  Tullia  spoke  ironically,"  suggested 
Corona.  "  Do  you  like  '  Norma '  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes ;  one  opera  is  as  good  as  another.  There  goes 
the  curtain." 

The  act  began,  and  for  some  minutes  no  one  in  the  box 
spoke.  Presently  there  was  a  burst  of  orchestral  music. 
Giovanni  leaned  forward  so  that  his  face  was  close  be 
hind  Corona.  He  could  speak  without  being  heard  by 
Astrardente. 

"  Did  you  receive  my  letter  ?  "  he  asked.  Corona  made 
an  almost  imperceptible  inclination  of  her  head,  but  did 
not  speak. 

"  Do  you  understand  my  position  ?  "  he  asked  again. 
He  could  not  see  her  face,  and  for  some  seconds  she  made 
no  sign  ;  at  last  she  moved  her  head  again,  but  this  time 
to  express  a  negative. 

"  It  is  simple  enough,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Giovanni, 
bending  his  brows. 

Corona  found  that  by  turning  a  little  she  could  still 
look  at  the  stage,  and  at  the  same  time  speak  to  the  man 
behind  her. 

"  How  can  I  judge  ?  "  she  said.  "  You  have  not  told 
me  all.  Why  do  you  ask  me  to  judge  whether  you  are 
right  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  do  it  if  you  thought  me  wrong,"  he  an 
swered  shortly. 

The  Duchessa  suddenly  thought  of  that  other  woman 


106  SAKACINESCA. 

for  whom  the  man  who  asked  her  advice  was  willing  to 
sacrifice  his  life. 

"  You  attach  an  astonishing  degree  of  importance  to  my 
opinion,"  she  said  very  coldly,  and  turned  her  head  from 
him. 

"  There  is  no  one  so  well  able  to  give  an  opinion,"  said 
Giovanni,  insisting. 

Corona  was  offended.  She  interpreted  the  speech  to 
mean  that  since  she  had  sacrificed  her  life  to  the  old  man 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  box,  she  was  able  to  judge 
whether  Giovanni  would  do  wisely  in  making  a  marriage 
of  convenience,  for  the  sake  of  an  end  which  even  to  her 
mind  seemed  visionary.  She  turned  quickly  upon  him, 
and  there  was  an  angry  gleam  in  her  eyes. 

"Pray  do  not  introduce  the  subject  of  my  life,"  she  said 
haughtily. 

Giovanni  was  too  much  astonished  to  answer  her  at 
once.  He  had  indeed  not  intended  the  least  reference  to 
her  marriage. 

"  You  have  entirely  misunderstood  me,"  he  said  pres 
ently. 

"  Then  you  must  express  yourself  more  clearly,"  she 
replied.  She  would  have  felt  very  guilty  to  be  thus  talk 
ing  to  Giovanni,  as  she  would  not  have  talked  before  her 
husband,  had  she  not  felt  that  it  was  upon  Giovanni's 
business,  and  that  the  matter  discussed  in  no  way  con 
cerned  herself.  As  for  Saracinesca,  he  was  in  a  dangerous 
position,  and  was  rapidly  losing  his  self-control.  He  was 
too  near  to  her,  his  heart  was  beating  too  fast,  the  blood 
was  throbbing  in  his  temples,  and  he  was  stung  by  being 
misunderstood. 

*  "It  is  not  possible  for  me  to  express  myself  more 
clearly,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  suffering  for  having  told 
you  too  little  when  I  dare  not  tell  you  all.  I  make  no 
reference  to  your  marriage  when  I  speak  to  you  of  my 
own.  Forgive  me ;  I  will  not  refer  to  the  matter  again." 

Corona  felt  again  that  strange  thrill,  half  of  pain,  half 
of  pleasure,  and  the  lights  of  the  theatre  seemed  moving 


SABACINESCA.  107 

before  her  uncertainly,  as  things  look  when  one  falls  from 
a  height.  Almost  unconsciously  she  spoke,  hardly  know 
ing  that  she  turned  her  head,  and  that  her  dark  eyes 
rested  upon  Giovanni's  pale  face. 

"  And  yet  there  must  be  some  reason  why  you  tell  me 
that  little,  and  why  you  do  not  tell  me  more."  When  she 
had  spoken,  she  would  have  given  all  the  world  to  have 
taken  back  her  words.  It  was  too  late.  Giovanni  answered 
in  a  low  thick  voice  that  sounded  as  though  he  were  chok 
ing,  his  face  grew  white,  and  his  teeth  seemed  almost  to 
chatter  as  though  he  were  cold,  but  his  eyes  shone  like 
black  stars  in  the  shadow  of  the  box. 

"There  is  every  reason.     You  are  the  woman  I  love." 

Corona  did  not  move  for  several  seconds,  as  though  not 
comprehending  what  he  had  said.  Then  she  suddenly 
shivered,  and  her  eyelids  drooped  as  she  leaned  back  in 
her  chair.  Her  fingers  relaxed  their  tight  hold  upon  her 
fan,  and  the  thing  fell  rattling  upon  the  floor  of  the  box. 

Old  Astrardente,  who  had  taken  no  notice  of  the  pair, 
being  annoyed  at  Giovanni's  visit,  and  much  interested  in 
the  proceedings  of  Madame  Mayer  in  the  box  opposite, 
heard  the  noise,  and  stooped  with  considerable  alacrity 
to  pick  up  the  fan  which  lay  at  his  feet. 

"  You  are  not  well,  my  love,"  he  said  quickly,  as  he 
observed  his  wife's  unusual  pallor. 

"  It  is  nothing  ;  it  will  pass,"  she  murmured,  with  a 
terrible  effort.  Then,  as  though  she  had  not  said  enough, 
she  added,  "  There  must  be  a  draught  here ;  I  have  a  chill." 

Giovanni  had  sat  like  a  statue,  utterly  overcome  by 
the  sense  of  his  own  folly  and  rashness,  as  well  as  by 
the  shock  of  having  so  miserably  failed  to  keep  the 
secret  he  dreaded  to  reveal.  On  hearing  Corona's  voice, 
he  rose  suddenly,  as  from  a  dream. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "  I  have  just  remem 
bered  a  most  important  engagement " 

"Do  not  mention  it,"  said  Astrardente,  sourly.  Gio 
vanni  bowed  to  the  Duchessa  and  left  the  box.  She  did 
not  look  at  him  as  he  went  away. 


108  SARACINESCA. 

"We  had  better  go  home,  my  angel,"  said  the  old  man. 
"You  have  got  a  bad  chill." 

"  Oh  no,  I  would  rather  stay.  It  is  nothing,  and  the 
best  part  of  the  opera  is  to  come."  Corona  spoke  quietly 
enough.  Her  strong  nerves  had  already  recovered  from 
the  shock  she  had  experienced,  and  she  could  command 
her  voice.  She  did  not  want  to  go  home ;  on  the  contrary, 
the  brilliant  lights  and  the  music  served  for  a  time  to 
soothe  her.  If  there  had  been  a  ball  that  night  she 
would  have  gone  to  it;  she  would  have  done  anything 
that  would  take  her  thoughts  from  herself.  Her  husband 
looked  at  her  curiously.  The  suspicion  crossed  his  mind 
that  Don  Giovanni  had  said  something  which  had  either 
frightened  or  offended  her,  but  on  second  thoughts  the 
theory  seemed  absurd.  He  regarded  Saracinesca  as  little 
more  than  a  mere  acquaintance  of  his  wife's. 

"As  you  please,  my  love,"  he  answered,  drawing  his 
chair  a  little  nearer  to  hers.  "  I  am  glad  that  fellow  is 
gone.  We  can  talk  at  our  ease  now." 

"Yes;  I  am  glad  he  is  gone.  We  can  talk  now,"  re 
peated  Corona,  mechanically. 

"  I  thought  his  excuse  slightly  conventional,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,"  remarked  Astrardente.  "An  important 
engagement !  —  just  a  little  banal.  However,  any  excuse 
was  good  enough  which'  took  him  away." 

"Did  he  say  that?"  asked  Corona.  "I  did  not  hear. 
Of  course,  any  excuse  would  do,  as  you  say." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Giovanni  left  the  theatre  at  once,  alone,  and  on  foot. 
He  was  very  much  agitated.  He  had  done  suddenly  and 
unawares  the  thing  of  all  others  he  had  determined 
never  to  do ;  his  resolutions  had  been  broken  down  and 
carried  away  as  an  ineffectual  barrier  is  swept  to  the  sea 


SARACINESCA.  109 

by  the  floods  of  spring.  His  heart  had  spoken  in  spite 
of  him,  and  in  speaking  had  silenced  every  prompting  of 
reason.  He  blamed  himself  bitterly,  as  he  strode  out 
across  the  deserted  bridge  of  Sant'  Angelo  and  into  the 
broad  gloom  beyond,  where  the  street  widens  from  the 
fortress  to  the  entrance  of  the  three  Borghi :  he  walked 
on  and  on,  finding  at  every  step  fresh  reason  for  self- 
reproach,  and  trying  to  understand  what  he  had  done. 
He  paused  at  the  end  of  the  open  piazza  and  looked  down 
towards  the  black  rushing  river  which  he  could  hear, 
but  hardly  see;  he  turned  into  the  silent  Borgo  Santo 
Spirito,  and  passed  along  the  endless  wall  of  the  great 
hospital  up  to  the  colonnades,  and  still  wandering  on,  he 
came  to  the  broad  steps  of  St.  Peter's  and  sat  down,  alone 
in  the  darkness,  at  the  foot  of  the  stupendous  pile. 

He  was  perhaps  not  so  much  to  blame  as  he  was  will 
ing  to  allow  in  his  just  anger  against  himself.  Corona 
had  tempted  him  sorely  in  that  last  question  she  had  put 
to  him.  She  had  not  known,  she  had  not  even  faintly 
guessed  what  she  was  doing,  for  her  own  brain  was  intox 
icated  with  a  new  and  indescribable  sensation  which  had 
left  no  room  for  reflection  nor  for  weighing  the  force  of 
words.  But  Giovanni,  who  had  been  willing  to  give  up 
everything,  even  to  his  personal  liberty,  for  the  sake  of 
concealing  his  love,  would  not  allow  himself  any  argu 
ment  in  extenuation  of  what  he  had  done.  He  had  had 
but  very  few  affairs  of  the  heart  in  his  life,  and  they  had 
been  for  the  most  part  very  insignificant,  and  his  experi 
ence  was  limited.  Even  now  it  never  entered  his  mind 
to  imagine  that  Corona  would  condone  his  offence ;  he 
felt  sure  that  she  was  deeply  wounded,  and  that  his  next 
meeting  with  her  would  be  a  terrible  ordeal — so  terrible, 
indeed,  that  he  doubted  whether  he  had  the  courage  to 
meet  her  at  all.  His  love  was  so  great,  and  its  object  so 
sacred  to  him,  that  he  hesitated  to  conceive  himself  loved 
in  return;  perhaps  if  he  had  been  able  to  understand 
that  Corona  loved  him  he  would  have  left  Kome  for  ever, 
rather  than  trouble  her  peace  by  his  presence. 


110  SARACINESCA. 

It  would  have  been  absolutely  different  if  he  had  been 
paying  court  to  Donna  Tullia,  for  instance.  The  feeling 
that  he  should  be  justified  would  have  lent  him  courage, 
and  the  coldness  in  his  own  heart  would  have  left  his 
judgment  free  play.  He  could  have  watched  her  calmly, 
and  would  have  tried  to  take  advantage  of  every  mood  in 
the  prosecution  of  his  suit.  He  was  a  very  honourable 
man,  but  he  did  not  consider  marriages  of  propriety  and 
convenience  as  being  at  all  contrary  to  the  ordinary  stand 
ard  of  social  honour,  and  would  have  thought  himself  jus 
tified  in  using  every  means  of  persuasion  in  order  to  win 
a  woman  whom,  upon  mature  reflection,  he  had  judged 
suitable  to  become  his  wife,  even  though  he  felt  no  real 
love  for  her.  That  is  an  idea  inherent  in  most  old 
countries,  an  idea  for  which  Giovanni  Saracinesca  was 
certainly  in  no  way  responsible,  seeing  that  it  had  been 
instilled  into  him  from  his  boyhood.  Personally  he  would 
have  preferred  to  live  and  die  unmarried,  rather  than  to 
take  a  wife  as  a  matter  of  obligation  towards  his  family ; 
but  seeing  that  he  had  never  seriously  loved  any  woman, 
he  had  acquired  the  habit  of  contemplating  such  a  mar 
riage  as  a  probability,  perhaps  as  an  ultimate  necessity,  to 
be  put  off  as  long  as  possible,  but  to  which  he  would  at 
last  yield  with  a  good  grace. 

But  the  current  of  his  life  had  been  turned.  He  was 
certainly  not  a  romantic  character,  not  a  man  who  desired 
to  experience  the  external  sensations  to  be  obtained  by 
voluntarily  creating  dramatic  events.  He  loved  action, 
and  he  had  a  taste  for  danger,  but  he  had  sought  both  in 
a  legitimate  way ;  he  never  desired  to  implicate  himself  in 
adventures  where  the  feelings  were  concerned,  and  hith 
erto  such  experiences  had  not  fallen  in  his  path.  As  is 
usual  with  such  men,  when  love  came  at  last,  it  came  with 
a  strength  such  as  boys  of  twenty  do  not  dream  of.  The 
mature  man  of  thirty  years,  with  his  strong  and  dominant 
temper,  his  carelessness  of  danger,  his  high  and  untried 
ideals  of  what  a  true  affection  should  be,  resisting  the  first 
impressions  of  the  master-passion  with  the  indifference  of 


SARACINESCA.  Ill 

one  accustomed  to  believe  that  love  could  not  come  near 
his  life,  and  was  in  general  a  thing  to  be  avoided — a  man, 
moreover,  who  by  his  individual  gifts  and  by  his  brilliant 
position  was  able  to  command  much  that  smaller  men 
would  not  dream  of  aspiring  to, — such  a  man,  in  short,  as 
Giovanni  Saracinesca, — was  not  likely  to  experience  love- 
sickness  in  a  mild  degree.  Proud,  despotic,  and  fiercely 
unyielding  by  his  inheritance  of  temper,  he  was  out 
wardly  gentle  and  courteous  by  acquired  habit,  a  man 
of  those  whom  women  easily  love  and  men  very  generally 
fear. 

He  did  not  realise  his  own  nature,,  he  did  not  suspect 
the  extremes  of  feeling  of  which  he  was  eminently  capable. 
He  had  at  first  felt  Corona's  influence,  and  her  face  and 
voice  seemed  to  awaken  in  him  a  memory,  which  was  as 
yet  but  an  anticipation,  and  not  a  real  remembrance.  It 
was  as  the  faint  perfume  of  the  spring  wafted  up  to  a 
prisoner  in  some  stern  fortress,  as  the  first  gentle  sweetness 
that  rose  from  the  enchanted  lakes  of  the  cisalpine  country 
to  the  nostrils  of  the  war-hardened  Goths  as  they  de 
scended  the  last  snow-slopes  in  their  southern  wandering 
— an  anticipation  that  seemed  already  a  memory,  a  looking 
forward  again  to  something  that  had  been  already  loved  in 
a  former  state.  Giovanni  had  laughed  at  himself  for  it 
at  first,  then  he  had  dreaded  its  growing  charm,  and  at  the 
last  he  had  fallen  hopelessly  under  the  spell,  retaining  only 
enough  of  his  former  self  to  make  him  determined  that  the 
harm  which  had  come  upon  himself  should  not  come  near 
this  woman  whom  he  so  adored. 

And  behold,  at  the  first  provocation,  the  very  first  time 
that  by  a  careless  word  she  had  fired  his  blood  and  set  his 
brain  throbbing,  he  had  not  only  been  unable  to  hide  what 
he  felt,  but  had  spoken  such  words  as  he  would  not  have 
believed  he  could  speak — so  bluntly,  so  roughly,  that  she 
had  almost  fainted  before  his  very  eyes. 

She  must  have  been  very  angry,  he  thought.  Perhaps, 
too,  she  was  frightened.  It  was  so  rude,  so  utterly  con 
trary  to  all  that  was  chivalrous  to  say  thus  at  the  first 


112  SARACIKESCA. 

opportunity,  "  I  love  you  " — just  that  and  nothing  more. 
Giovanni  had  never  thought  much  about  it,  but  he  sup 
posed  that  men  in  love,  very  seriously  in  love,  must  take 
a  long  time  to  express  themselves,  as  is  the  manner  in 
books ;  whereas  he  was  horrified  at  his  own  bluntness  in 
having  blurted  out  rashly  such  words  as  could  never  be 
taken  back,  as  could  never  even  be  explained  now,  he 
feared,  because  he  had  put  himself  beyond  the  pale  of  all 
explanation,  perhaps  beyond  the  reach  of  forgiveness. 

Nobody  ever  yet  explained  away  the  distinct  statement 
"  I  love  you,"  upon  any  pretence  of  a  mistake.  Giovanni 
almost  laughed  at  the  idea,  and  yet  he  conceived  that 
some  kind  of  apology  would  be  necessary,  though  he 
could  not  imagine  how  he  was  to  frame  one.  He  re 
flected  that  few  women  would  consider  a  declaration, 
even  as  sudden  as  his  had  been,  in  the  light  of  an  insult ; 
but  he  knew  how  little  cause  Corona  had  given  him  for 
speaking  to  her  of  love,  and  he  judged  from  her  manner 
that  she  had  been  either  offended  or  frightened,  or  both, 
and  that  he  was  to  blame  for  it.  He  was  greatly  dis 
turbed,  and  the  sweat  stood  in  great  drops  upon  his  fore 
head  as  he  sat  there  upon  the  steps  of  St.  Peter's  in  the 
cold  night  wind.  He  remained  nearly  an  hour  without 
changing  his  position,  and  then  at  last  he  rose  and  slowly 
retraced  his  steps,  and  went  home  by  narrow  streets, 
avoiding  the  theatre  and  the  crowd  of  carriages  that 
stood  before  it. 

He  had  almost  determined  to  go  away  for  a  time,  and 
to  let  his  absence  speak  for  his  contrition.  But  he  had 
reckoned  upon  his  former  self,  and  he  doubted  now 
whether  he  had  the  strength  to  leave  Home.  The  most 
that  seemed  possible  was  that  he  should  keep  out  of 
Corona's  way  for  a  few  days,  until  she  should  have 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  scene  in  the  theatre. 
After  that  he  would  go  to  her  and  tell  her  quite  simply 
that  he  was  very  sorry,  but  that  he  had  been  unable  to 
control  himself.  It  would  soon  be  over.  She  would  not 
refuse  to  speak  to  him,  he  argued,  for  fear  of  attracting 


SARACINESCA.  113 

the  attention  of  the  gossips  and  making  an  open  scandal. 
She  would  perhaps  tell  him  to  avoid  her,  and  her  words 
would  be  few  and  haughty,  but  she  would  speak  to  him, 
nevertheless. 

Giovanni  went  to  bed.  The  next  day  he  gave  out  that 
he  had  a  touch  of  fever,  and  remained  in  his  own  apart 
ments.  His  father,  who  was  passionately  attached  to 
him,  in  spite  of  his  rough  temper  and  hasty  speeches, 
came  and  spent  most  of  the  day  with  him,  and  in  the 
intervals  of  his  kindly  talk,  marched  up  and  down  the 
room,  swearing  that  Giovanni  was  no  more  ill  than  he 
was  himself,  and  that  he  had  acquired  his  accursed  habit 
of  staying  in  bed  upon  his  travels.  As  Giovanni  had 
never  before  been  known  to  spend  twenty-four  hours  in 
bed  for  any  reason  whatsoever,  the  accusation  was  un 
just;  but  he  only  smiled  and  pretended  to  argue  the 
case  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  the  old  prince.  He  really 
felt  exceedingly  uncomfortable,  and  would  have  been 
glad  to  be  left  alone  at  any  price ;  but  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  pretend  to  be  ill  in  body,  when  he  was  really 
sick  at  heart,  and  he  remained  obstinately  in  bed  the 
whole  day.  On  the  following  morning  he  declared  his 
intention  of  going  out  of  town,  and  by  an  early  train  he 
left  the  city.  No  one  saw  Giovanni  again  until  the 
evening  of  the  Frangipani  ball. 

Meanwhile  it  would  have  surprised  him  greatly  to  know 
that  Corona  looked  for  him  in  vain  wherever  she  went, 
and  that,  not  seeing  him,  she  grew  silent  and  pale,  and 
gave  short  answers  to  the  pleasant  speeches  men  made 
her.  Every  one  missed  Giovanni.  He  wrote  to  Valdarno 
to  say  that  he  had  been  suddenly  obliged  to  visit  Sara- 
cinesca  in  order  to  see  to  some  details  connected  with  the 
timber  question ;  but  everybody  wondered  why  he  should 
have  taken  himself  away  in  the  height  of  the  season  for 
so  trivial  a  matter.  He  had  last  been  seen  in  the  Astrar- 
dente  box  at  the  opera,  where  he  had  only  stayed  a  few 
minutes,  as  Del  Ferice  was  able  to  testify,  having  sat 
immediately  opposite  in  the  box  of  Madame  Mayer.  Del 


114  SABACINESCA. 

Ferice  swore  secretly  that  he  would  find  out  what  was 
the  matter ;  and  Donna  Tullia  abused  Giovanni  in  un 
measured  terms  to  a  circle  of  intimate  friends  and  admir 
ers,  because  he  had  been  engaged  to  dance  with  her  at  the 
Valdarno  cotillon,  and  had  not  even  sent  word  that  he 
could  not  come.  Thereupon  all  the  men  present  imme 
diately  offered  themselves  for  the  vacant  dance,  and 
Donna  Tullia  made  them  draw  lots  by  tossing  a  copper 
sou  in  the  corner  of  the  ball-room.  The  man  who  won 
the  toss  recklessly  threw  over  the  partner  he  had  al 
ready  engaged,  and  almost  had  to  fight  a  duel  in  conse 
quence  ;  all  of  which  was  intensely  amusing  to  Donna 
Tullia.  Nevertheless,  in  her  heart,  she  was  very  angry 
at  Giovanni's  departure. 

But  Corona  sought  him  everywhere,  and  at  last  heard 
that  he  had  left  town,  two  days  after  everybody  else  in 
Rome  had  known  it.  She  would  probably  have  been  very 
much  disturbed,  if  she  had  actually  met  him  within  a  day 
or  two  of  that  fatal  evening,  but  the  desire  to  see  him  was 
so  great,  that  she  entirely  overlooked  the  consequences. 
For  the  time  being,  her  whole  life  seemed  to  have  under 
gone  a  revolution — she  trembled  at  the  echo  of  the  words 
she  had  heard — she  spent  long  hours  in  solitude,  praying 
with  all  her  strength  that  she  might  be  forgiven  for  having 
heard  him  speak ;  but  the  moment  she  left  her  room,  and 
went  out  into  the  world,  the  dominant  desire  to  see  him 
again  returned.  The  secret  longing  of  her  soul  was  to 
hear  him  speak  again  as  he  had  spoken  once.  She  would 
have  gone  again  to  Padre  Filippo  and  told  him  all ;  but 
when  she  was  alone  in  the  solitude  of  her  passionate  pray 
ers  and  self-accusation,  she  felt  that  sue  must  fight  this 
fight  alone,  without  help  of  any  one ;  and  when  she  was 
in  the  world,  she  lacked  courage  to  put  altogether  from  her 
what  was  so  very  sweet,  and  her  eyes  searched  unceasingly 
for  the  dark  face  she  loved.  But  the  stirring  strength  of 
the  mighty  passion  played  upon  her  soul  and  body  in  spite 
of  her,  as  upon  an  instrument  of  strings ;  and  sometimes 
the  music  was  gentle  and  full  of  sweet  harmony,  but  often 


SARACINESCA.  115 

there  were  crashes  of  discord,  so  that  she  trembled  and  felt 
her  heart  wrung  as  by  torture ;  then  she  set  her  strong 
lips,  and  her  white  fingers  wound  themselves  together,  and 
she  could  have  cried  aloud,  but  that  her  pride  forbade  her. 

The  days  came  and  went,  but  Giovanni  did  not  return, 
and  Corona's  face  grew  every  morning  more  pale  and  her 
eyes  every  night  more  wistful.  Her  husband  did  not  un 
derstand,  but  he  saw  that  something  was  the  matter,  as 
others  saw  it,  and  in  his  quick  suspicious  humour  he  con 
nected  the  trouble  in  his  wife's  face  with  the  absence  of 
Giovanni  and  with  the  strange  chill  she  had  felt  in  the 
theatre.  But  Corona  d'Astrardente  was  a  very  brave  and 
strong  woman,  and  she  bore  what  seemed  to  her  like  the 
agony  of  death  renewed  each  day,  so  calmly  that  those 
who  knew  her  thought  it  was  but  a  passing  indisposition 
or  annoyance,  unusual  with  her,  who  was  never  ill  nor 
troubled,  but  yet  insignificant.  She  gave  particular  atten 
tion  to  the  gown  which  her  husband  had  desired  she 
should  wear  at  the  great  ball,  and  the  need  she  felt  for 
distracting  her  mind  from  her  chief  care  made  society 
necessary  to  her. 

The  evening  of  the  Frangipani  ball  came,  and  all  Eome 
was  in  a  state  of  excitement  and  expectation.  The  great 
old  family  had  been  in  mourning  for  years,  owing  to  three 
successive  deaths,  and  during  all  that  time  the  ancient 
stronghold  which  was  called  their  palace  had  been  closed 
to  the  world.  For  some  time,  indeed,  no  one  of  the  name 
had  been  in  Eome — the  prince  and  princess  preferring  to 
pass  the  time  of  mourning  in  the  country  and  in  travel 
ling  ;  while  the  eldest  son,  now  just  of  age,  was  finishing 
his  academic  career  at  an  English  University.  But  this 
year  the  family  had  returned :  there  had  been  both  dinners 
and  receptions  at  the  palace,  and  the  ball,  which  was  to  be 
a  sort  of  festival  in  honour  of  the  coming  of  age  of  the 
heir,  was  expected  as  the  principal  event  of  the  year.  It 
was  rumoured  that  there  would  be  nearly  thirty  rooms 
opened  besides  the  great  hall,  which  was  set  aside  for  danc 
ing,  and  that  the  arrangements  were  on  a  scale  worthy  of 


lib"  SAEACINESCA. 

a  household  which,  had  endured  in  its  high  position  for  up 
wards  of  a  thousand  years.  It  was  understood  that  no 
distinction  had  been  made,  in  issuing  the  invitations,  be 
tween  parties  in  politics  or  in  society,  and  that  there 
would  be  more  people  seen  there  than  had  been  collected 
under  one  roof  for  many  years. 

The  Frangipani  did  things  magnificently,  and  no  one 
was  disappointed.  The  gardens  and  courts  of  the  palace 
were  brilliantly  illuminated ;  vast  suites  of  apartments 
were  thrown  open,  and  lavishly  decorated  with  rare 
flowers ;  the  grand  staircase  was  lined  with  footmen  in 
the  liveries  of  the  house,  standing  motionless  as  the  guests 
passed  up ;  the  supper  was  a  banquet  such  as  is  read  of  in 
the  chronicles  of  medieval  splendour ;  the  enormous  con 
servatory  in  the  distant  south  wing  was  softly  lit  by 
shaded  candles  concealed  among  the  tropical  plants ;  and 
the  ceilings  and  walls  of  the  great  hall  itself  had  been 
newly  decorated  by  famous  painters  ;  while  the  polished 
wooden  floor  presented  an  innovation  upon  the  old- 
fashioned  canvas-covered  brick  pavement,  not  hitherto 
seen  in  any  Roman  palace.  A  thousand  candles,  disposed 
in  every  variety  of  chandelier  and  candelabra,  shed  a  soft 
rich  light  from  far  above,  and  high  in  the  gallery  at  one  end 
an  orchestra  of  Viennese  musicians  played  unceasingly. 

As  generally  happens  at  very  large  balls,  the  dancing 
began  late,  but  numbers  of  persons  had  come  early  in 
order  to  survey  the  wonders  of  the  palace  at  their  leisure. 
Among  those  who  arrived  soon  after  ten  o'clock  was 
Giovanni  Saracinesca,  who  was  greeted  loudly  by  all  who 
knew  him.  He  looked  pale  and  tired,  if  his  tough  nature 
could  ever  be  said  to  seem  weary  ;  but  he  was  in  an  un 
usually  affable  mood,  and  exchanged  words  with  every 
one  he  met.  Indeed  he  had  been  sad  for  so  many  days 
that  he  hardly  understood  why  he  felt  gay,  unless  it  was 
in  the  anticipation  of  once  more  seeing  the  woman  he 
loved.  He  wandered  through  the  rooms  carelessly  enough, 
but  he  was  in  reality  devoured  by  impatience,  and  his 
quick  eyes  sought  Corona's  tall  figure  in  every  direction. 


SABACINESCA.  117 

But  she  was  not  yet  there,  and  Giovanni  at  last  came 
and  took  his  station  in  one  of  the  outer  halls,  waiting 
patiently  for  her  arrival. 

While  he  waited,  leaning  against  one  of  the  marble 
pillars  of  the  door,  the  throng  increased  rapidly ;  but  he 
hardly  noticed  the  swelling  crowd,  until  suddenly  there 
was  a  lull  in  the  unceasing  talk,  and  the  men  and  women 
parted  to  allow  a  cardinal  to  pass  out  from  the  inner  rooms. 
With  many  gracious  nods  and  winning  looks,  the  great 
man  moved  on,  his  keen  eyes  embracing  every  one  and 
everything  within  the  range  of  his  vision,  his  courteous 
smile  seeming  intended  for  each  separate  individual,  and 
yet  overlooking  none,  nor  resting  long  on  any,  his  high 
brow  serene  and  unbent,  his  flowing  robes  falling  back 
from  his  courtly  figure,  as  with  his  red  hat  in  his  hand 
he  bowed  his  way  through  the  bowing  crowd.  His  de 
parture,  which  was  quickly  followed  by  that  of  several 
other  cardinals  and  prelates,  was  the  signal  that  the 
dancing  would  soon  begin ;  and  when  he  had  passed  out, 
the  throng  of  men  and  women  pressed  more  quickly  in 
through  the  door  on  their  way  to  the  ball-room. 

But  as  the  great  cardinal's  eye  rested  on  Giovanni 
Saracinesca,  accompanied  by  that  invariable  smile  that  so 
many  can  remember  well  to  this  day,  his  delicate  hand 
made  a  gesture  as  though  beckoning  to  the  young  man 
to  follow  him.  Giovanni  obeyed  the  summons,  and  be 
came  for  the  moment  the  most  notable  man  in  the  room. 
The  two  passed  out  together,  and  a  moment  later  were 
standing  in  the  outer  hall.  Already  the  torch-bearers  were 
standing  without  upon  the  grand  staircase,  and  the  lackeys 
were  mustering  in  long  files  to  salute  the  Prime  Minister. 
Just  then  the  master  of  the  house  came  running  breathless 
from  within.  He  had  not  seen  that  Cardinal  Antonelli 
was  taking  his  leave,  and  hastened  to  overtake  him,  lest 
any  breach  of  etiquette  on  his  part  should  attract  the 
displeasure  of  the  statesman. 

"  Your  Eminence's  pardon  ! "  he  exclaimed,  hurriedly. 
"  I  had  not  seen  that  your  Eminence  was  leaving  us — so 
early  too — the  Princess  feared " 

Vol.  10—6 


118  SARACINESCA. 

"Do  not  speak  of  it,'r  answered  the  Cardinal,  in  suave 
tones.  "  I  am  not  so  strong  as  I  used  to  be.  We  old 
fellows  must  to  bed  betimes,  and  leave  you  young  ones  to 
enjoy  yourselves.  No  excuses — good  night — a  beautiful 
ball — I  congratulate  you  on  the  reopening  of  your  house 
— good  night  again.  I  will  have  a  word  with  Giovanni 
here  before  I  go  down-stairs." 

He  extended  his  hand  to  Frangipani,  who  lifted  it  re 
spectfully  to  his  lips  and  withdrew,  seeing  that  he  was  not 
wanted.  He  and  many  others  speculated  long  upon  the 
business  which  engaged  his  Eminence  in  close  conversation 
with  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  keeping  him  for  more  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  the  cold  ante-chamber,  where  the 
night  wind  blew  in  unhindered  from  the  vast  staircase  of 
the  palace.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Giovanni  was  as  much 
surprised  as  any  one. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  my  friend  ?  "  inquired  the  Car 
dinal,  when  they  were  alone. 

"To  Saracinesca,  your  Eminence." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  in  Saracinesca  at  this 
time  of  year  ?  I  hope  you  are  attending  to  the  woods 
there — you  have  not  been  cutting  timber  ?  " 

"  No  one  can  be  more  anxious  than  we  to  see  the  woods 
grow  thick  upon  our  hills,"  replied  Giovanni.  "Your 
Eminence  need  have  no  fear." 

"Not  for  your  estates,"  said  the  great  Cardinal,  his  small 
keen  black  eyes  resting  searchingly  on  Giovanni's  face. 
"  But  I  confess  I  have  some  fears  for  yourself." 

"  For  me,  Eminence  ?  "  repeated  Giovanni,  in  some  as 
tonishment. 

"  For  you.  I  have  heard  with  considerable  anxiety  that 
there  is  a  question  of  marrying  you  to  Madame  Mayer. 
Such  a  match  would  not  meet  with  the  Holy  Father's  ap 
proval,  nor — if  I  may  be  permitted  to  mention  my  humble 
self  in  the  same  breath  with  our  august  sovereign — would 
it  be  wise  in  my  own  estimation." 

"Permit  me  to  remark  to  your  Eminence,"  answered 
Giovanni,  proudly,  "  that  in  my  house  we  have  never  been 


SABACINESCA.  119 

in  the  habit  of  asking  advice  upon  such  subjects.  Donna 
Tullia  is  a  good  Catholic.  There  can  therefore  be  no  valid 
objection  to  my  asking  her  hand,  if  my  father  and  I  agree 
that  it  is  best." 

"  You  are  terrible  fellows,  you  Saracinesca,"  returned 
the  Cardinal,  blandly.  "  I  have  read  your  family  history 
with  immense  interest,  and  what  you  say  is  quite  true.  I 
cannot  find  an  instance  on  record  of  your  taking  the  ad 
vice  of  any  one — certainly  not  of  the  Holy  Church.  It  is 
with  the  utmost  circumspection  that  I  venture  to  approach 
the  subject  with  you,  and  I  am  sure  that  you  will  believe 
me  when  I  say  that  my  words  are  not  dictated  by  any 
officious  or  meddling  spirit ;  I  am  addressing  you  by  the 
direct  desire  of  the  Holy  Father  himself." 

A  soft  answer  turneth  away  wrath,  and  if  the  all-pow 
erful  statesman's  answer  to  Giovanni  seems  to  have  been 
more  soft  than  might  have  been  expected,  it  must  be  re 
membered  that  he  was  speaking  to  the  heir  of  one  of  the 
most  powerful  houses  in  the  Roman  State,  at  a  time  when 
the  personal  friendship  of  such  men  as  the  Saracinesca  was 
of  vastly  greater  importance  than  it  is  now.  At  that  time 
some  twenty  noblemen  owned  a  great  part  of  the  Pontifical 
States,  and  the  influence  they  could  exert  upon  their  ten 
antry  was  very  great,  for  the  feudal  system  was  not  ex 
tinct,  nor  the  feudal  spirit.  Moreover,  though  Cardinal 
Antonelli  was  far  from  popular  with  any  party,  Pius  IX. 
was  respected  and  beloved  by  a  vast  majority  of  the  gen 
tlemen  as  well  as  of  the  people.  Giovanni's  first  impulse 
was  to  resist  any  interference  whatsoever  in  his  affairs ; 
but  on  receiving  the  Cardinal's  mild  answer  to  his  own 
somewhat  arrogant  assertion  of  independence,  he  bowed 
politely  and  professed  himself  willing  to  listen  to 
reason. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  since  his  Holiness  has  mentioned  the 
matter,  I  beg  that  your  Eminence  will  inform  him  that, 
though  the  question  of  my  marriage  seems  to  be  in  every 
body's  mouth,  it  is  as  yet  merely  a  project  in  which  no 
active  steps  have  been  taken." 


120  SABACINESCA. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  Giovanni,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  f a* 
miliarly  taking  his  arm,  and  beginning  to  pace  the  hall*, 
"  I  am  glad  of  it.  There  are  reasons  why  the  match  ap 
pears  to  be  unworthy  of  you.  If  you  will  permit  me, 
without  any  offence  to  Madame  Mayer,  I  will  tell  you 
what  those  reasons  are." 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  said  Giovanni,  gravely,  "pro 
vided  only  there  is  no  offence  to  Donna  Tullia." 

"None  whatever.  The  reasons  are  purely  political. 
Madame  Mayer — or  Donna  Tullia,  since  you  prefer  to  call 
her  so — is  the  centre  of  a  sort  of  club  of  so-called  Liberals, 
of  whom  the  most  active  and  the  most  foolish  member  is 
a  certain  Ugo  del  Ferice,  a  fellow  who  calls  himself  a 
count,  but  whose  grandfather  was  a  coachman  in  the  Vati 
can  under  Leo  XII.  He  will  get  himself  into  trouble 
some  day.  He  is  always  in  attendance  upon  Donna 
Tullia,  and  probably  led  her  into  this  band  of  foolish 
young  people  for  objects  of  his  own.  It  is  a  very  silly 
society ;  I  daresay  you  have  heard  some  of  their  talk  ? " 

"Very  little,"  replied  Giovanni;  "I  do  not  trouble 
myself  about  politics.  I  did  not  even  know  that  there 
was  such  a  club  as  your  Eminence  speaks  of." 

Cardinal  Antonelli  glanced  sharply  at  his  companion  as 
he  proceeded. 

"  They  affect  solidarity  and  secrecy,  these  young  peo 
ple,"  he  said,  with  a  sneer,  "  and  their  solidarity  betrays 
their  secrecy,  because  it  is  unfortunately  true  in  our  dear 
Borne  that  wherever  two  or  three  are  gathered  together 
they  are  engaged  in  some  mischief.  But  they  may  gather 
in  peace  at  the  studio  of  Monsieur  Gouache,  or  anywhere 
else  they  please,  for  all  I  care.  Gouache  is  a  clever  fel 
low  ;  he  is  to  paint  my  portrait.  Do  you  know  him  ? 
But,  to  return  to  my  sheep  in  wolves'  clothing — my  amus 
ing  little  conspirators.  They  can  do  no  harm,  for  they 
know  not  even  what  they  say,  and  their  words  are  not 
followed  by  any  kind  of  action  whatsoever.  But  the 
principle  of  the  thing  is  bad,  Giovanni.  Your  brave  old 
ancestors  used  to  fight  us  Churchmen  outright,  and  unless 


SABACINESCA.  121 

the  Lord  is  especially  merciful,  their  souls  are  in  an  evil 
case,  for  the  devil  knoweth  his  own,  and  is  a  particularly 
bad  paymaster.  But  they  fought  outright,  like  gentle 
men  ;  whereas  these  people — foderunt  foveam  ut  caperent 
me — they  have  digged  a  ditch,  but  they  will  certainly 
not  catch  me,  nor  any  one  else.  Their  conciliabules,  as 
Eousseau  would  have  called  them,  meet  daily  and  talk 
great  nonsense  and  do  nothing;  which  does  not  prove 
their  principles  to  be  good,  while  it  demonstrates  their 
intellect  to  be  contemptible.  No  offence  to  the  Signer 
Coiite  del  Ferice,  but  I  think  ignorance  has  marked  his 
little  party  for  its  own,  and  inanity  waits  on  all  his  coun 
cils.  If  they  believe  in  half  the  absurdities  they  utter, 
why  do  they  not  pack  up  their  goods  and  chattels  and 
cross  the  frontier  ?  If  they  meant  anything,  they  would 
do  something." 

"Evidently,"  replied  Giovanni,  half  amused  at  his 
Eminence's  tirade. 

"  Evidently.  Therefore  they  mean  nothing.  Therefore 
our  good  friend  Donna  Tullia  is  dabbling  in  the  emptiness 
of  political  dilettanteism  for  the  satisfaction  of  a  hollow 
vanity ;  no  offence  to  her — it  is  the  manner  of  her  kind." 

Giovanni  was  silent. 

"Believe  me,  prince,"  said  the  Cardinal,  suddenly 
changing  his  tone  and  speaking  very  seriously,  "  there  is 
something  better  for  strong  men  like  you  and  me  to  do, 
in  these  times,  than  to  dabble  in  conspiracy  and  to  toss 
off  glasses  of  champagne  to  Italian  unity  and  Victor 
Emmanuel.  The  condition  of  our  lives  is  battle,  and  bat 
tle  against  terrible  odds.  Neither  you  nor  I  should  be 
content  to  waste  our  strength  in  fighting  shadows,  in 
waging  war  on  petty  troubles  of  our  own  raising,  know 
ing  all  the  while  that  the  powers  of  evil  are  marshalled 
in  a  deadly  array  against  the  powers  of  good.  Sed  non 
prcevalebunt ! " 

The  Cardinal's  thin  face  assumed  a  strange  look  of 
determination,  and  his  delicate  fingers  grasped  Giovanni's 
arm  with  a  force  that  startled  him. 


122  SARACINESCA. 

"  You  speak  bravely,"  answered  the  young  man.  "  You 
are  more  sanguine  than  we  men  of  the  world.  You 
believe  that  disaster  impossible  which  to  me  seems  grow 
ing  daily  more  imminent." 

Cardinal  Antonelli  turned  his  gleaming  black  eyes  full 
on  his  companion. 

"  O  generatio  incredula  !  If  you  have  not  faith,  you  have 
not  courage,  and  if  you  have  not  courage  you  will  waste 
your  life  in  the  pursuit  of  emptiness  !  It  is  for  men  like 
you,  for  men  of  ancient  race,  of  broad  acres,  of  iron  body 
and  healthy  mind,  to  put  your  hand  to  the  good  work  and 
help  us  who  have  struggled  for  many  years  and  whose 
strength  is  already  failing.  Every  action  of  your  life, 
every  thought  of  your  waking  hours,  should  be  for  the 
good  end,  lest  we  all  perish  together  and  expiate  our  luke 
warm  indifference.  Timidi  nunquam  statuerunt  tropceum 
— if  we  would  divide  the  spoil  we  must  gird  on  the  sword 
and  use  it  boldly ;  we  must  not  allow  the  possibility  of 
failure ;  we  must  be  vigilant ;  we  must  be  united  as  one 
man.  You  tell  me  that  you  men  of  the  world  already 
regard  a  disaster  as  imminent — to  expect  defeat  is  nine- 
tenths  of  a  defeat  itself.  Ah,  if  we  could  count  upon 
such  men  as  you  to  the  very  death,  our  case  would  be  far 
from  desperate."  > 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,  your  Eminence  can  count  upon 
us  well  enough,"  replied  Giovanni,  quietly. 

"  Upon  you,  Giovanni — yes,  for  you  are  a  brave  gentle 
man.  But  upon  your  friends,  even  upon  your  class — no. 
Can  I  count  upon  the  Valdarno,  even  ?  You  know  as  well 
as  I  that  they  are  in  sympathy  with  the  Liberals — that 
they  have  neither  the  courage  to  support  us  nor  the  au 
dacity  to  renounce  us ;  and,  what  is  worse,  they  represent 
a  large  class,  of  whom,  I  regret  to  say,  Donna  Tullia 
Mayer  is  one  of  the  most  prominent  members.  With  her 
wealth,  her  youth,  her  effervescent  spirits,  and  her  early 
widowhood,  she  leads  men  after  her;  they  talk,  they 
chatter,  they  set  up  an  opinion  and  gloat  over  it,  while 
they  lack  the  spirit  to  support  it.  They  are  all  alike— 


SARACINESCA.  123 

non  tantum  ovum  ovo  simile — one  egg  is  not  more  like 
another  than  they  are.  Non  tali  auxilio — we  want  no 
such  help.  We  ask  for  bread,  not  for  stones ;  we  want 
men,  not  empty-headed  dandies.  We  have  both  at 
present ;  but  if  the  Emperor  fails  us,  we  shall  have  too 
many  dandies  and  too  few  men — too  few  men  like  you, 
Don  Giovanni.  Instead  of  armed  battalions  we  shall 
have  polite  societies  for  mutual  assurance  against  political 
risks, — instead  of  the  support  of  the  greatest  military 
power  in  Europe,  we  shall  have  to  rely  on  a  parcel  of 
young  gentlemen  whose  opinions  are  guided  by  Donna 
Tullia  Mayer." 

Giovanni  laughed  and  glanced  at  his  Eminence,  who 
chose  to  refer  all  the  imminent  disasters  of  the  State  to 
the  lady  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  see  married  to  his  com 
panion. 

"  Is  her  influence  really  so  great  ?  "  asked  Saracinesca, 
incredulously. 

"  She  is  agreeable,  she  is  pretty,  she  is  rich — her  influ 
ence  is  a  type  of  the  whole  influence  which  is  abroad  in 
Rome — a  reflection  of  the  life  of  Paris.  There,  at  least, 
the  women  play  a  real  part — very  often  a  great  one :  here, 
when  they  have  got  command  of  a  drawing-room  full  of 
fops,  they  do  not  know  where  to  lead  them ;  they  change 
their  minds  twenty  times  a-day ;  they  have  an  access  of 
religious  enthusiasm  in  Advent,  followed  by  an  attack  of 
Liberal  fever  in  Carnival,  and  their  season  is  brought  to 
a  fitting  termination  by  the  prostration  which  overtakes 
them  in  Lent.  By  that  time  all  their  principles  are  upset, 
and  they  go  to  Paris  for  the  month  of  May — -pour  se  re- 
tremper  dans  les  id&es  id£alistes,  as  they  express  it.  Do 
you  think  one  could  construct  a  party  out  of  such  elements, 
especially  when  you  reflect  that  this  mass  of  uncertainty 
is  certain  always  to  yield  to  the  ultimate  consideration  of 
self-interest  ?  Half  of  them  keep  an  Italian  flag  with  the 
Papal  one,  ready  to  thrust  either  of  them  out  of  the  win 
dow  as  occasion  may  require.  Good  night,  Giovanni.  I 
have  talked  enough,  and  all  Kome  will  set  upon  you  to 


124  SABACINESCA. 

find  out  what  secrets  of  State  I  have  been  confiding.  You 
had  better  prepare  an  answer,  for  you  can  hardly  inform 
Donna  Tullia  and  her  set  that  I  have  been  calling  them 
a  parcel  of — weak  and  ill-advised  people.  They  might 
take  offence — they  might  even  call  me  by  bad  names, — 
fancy  how  very  terribly  that  would  afflict  me !  Good 
night,  Giovanni — my  greetings  to  your  father." 

The  Cardinal  nodded,  but  did  not  offer  his  hand.  He 
knew  that  Giovanni  hated  to  kiss  his  ring,  and  he  had  too 
much  tact  to  press  the  ceremonial  etiquette  upon  any  one 
whom  he  desired  to  influence.  But  he  nodded  graciously, 
and  receiving  his  cloak  from  the  gentleman  who  accom 
panied  him  and  who  had  waited  at  a  respectful  distance, 
the  statesman  passed  out  of  the  great  doorway,  where  the 
double  line  of  torch-bearers  stood  ready  to  accompany 
him  down  the  grand  staircase  to  his  carriage,  in  accord 
ance  with  the  custom  of  those  days. 


CHAPTER  X. 

When  he  was  alone,  Giovanni  retraced  his  steps,  and 
again  took  up  his  position  near  the  entrance  to  the  recep 
tion-rooms.  He  had  matter  for  reflection  in  the  inter 
view  which  had  just  ended ;  and,  having  nothing  better 
to  do  while  he  waited  for  Corona,  he  thought  about  what 
had  happened.  He  was  not  altogether  pleased  at  the 
interest  his  marriage  excited  in  high  quarters ;  he  hated 
interference,  and  he  regarded  Cardinal  Antonelli's  advice 
in  such  a  matter  as  an  interference  of  the  most  unwar 
rantable  kind.  Neither  he  himself  nor  his  father  were 
men  who  sought  counsel  from  without,  for  independence 
in  action  was  with  them  a  family  tradition,  as  independ 
ence  of  thought  was  in  their  race  a  hereditary  quality. 
To  think  that  if  he,  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  chose  to  marry 
any  woman  whatsoever,  any  one,  no  matter  how  exalted 


SARACINESCA.  125 

in  station,  should  dare  to  express  approval  or  disapproval 
was  a  shock  to  every  inborn  and  cultivated  prejudice  in 
his  nature.  He  had  nearly  quarrelled  with  his  own 
father  for  seeking  to  influence  his  matrimonial  projects ; 
it  was  not  likely  that  he  would  suffer  Cardinal  Antonelli 
to  interfere  with  them.  If  Giovanni  had  really  made  up 
his  mind — had  firmly  determined  to  ask  the  hand  of 
Donna  Tullia — it  is  more  than  probable  that  the  states 
man's  advice  would  not  only  have  failed  signally  in 
preventing  the  match,  but  by  the  very  opposition  it 
would  have  aroused  in  Giovanni's  heart  it  would  have 
had  the  effect  of  throwing  him  into  the  arms  of  a  party 
which  already  desired  his  adhesion,  and  which,  under  his 
guidance,  might  have  become  as  formidable  as  it  was 
previously  insignificant.  But  the  great  Cardinal  was 
probably  well  informed,  and  his  words  had  not  fallen 
upon  a  barren  soil.  Giovanni  had  vacillated  sadly  in 
trying  to  come  to  a  decision.  His  first  Quixotic  impulse 
to  marry  Madame  Mayer,  in  order  to  show  the  world  that 
he  cared  nothing  for  Corona  d'Astrardente,  had  proved 
itself  absurd,  even  to  his  impetuous  intelligence.  The 
growing  antipathy  he  felt  for  Donna  Tullia  had  made  his 
marriage  with  her  appear  in  the  light  of  a  disagreeable 
duty,  and  his  rashness  in  confessing  his  love  for  Corona 
had  so  disturbed  his  previous  conceptions  that  marriage 
no  longer  seemed  a  duty  at  all.  What  had  been  but  a 
few  days  before  almost  a  fixed  resolution,  had  dwindled 
till  it  seemed  an  impracticable  and  even  a  useless  scheme. 
When  he  had  arrived  at  the  Palazzo  Frangipani  that 
evening,  he  had  very  nearly  forgotten  Donna  Tullia,  and 
had  quite  determined  that  whatever  his  father  might  say 
he  would  not  give  the  promised  answer  before  Easter. 
By  the  time  the  Cardinal  had  left  him,  he  had  decided 
that  no  power  on  earth  should  induce  him  to  marry 
Madame  Mayer.  He  did  not  take  the  trouble  of  saying 
to  himself  that  he  would  marry  no  one  else. 

The  Cardinal's  words  had  struck  deep,  in  a  deep  nature. 
Giovanni  had  given  Del  Ferice  a  very  fair  exposition  of 


126  SABACINESCA. 

the  views  lie  believed  himself  to  hold,  on  the  day  when 
they  had  walked  together  after  Donna  Tullia's  picnic. 
He  believed  himself  a  practical  man,  loyal  to  the  tem 
poral  power  by  principle  rather  than  by  any  sort  of 
enthusiastic  devotion ;  not  desirous  of  any  great  change, 
because  any  change  that  might  reasonably  be  expected 
would  be  bad  for  his  own  vested  interests;  not  preju 
diced  for  any  policy  save  that  of  peace — preferring, 
indeed,  with  Cicero,  the  most  unjust  peace  to  the  most 
just  war ;  tenacious  of  old  customs,  and  not  particularly 
inquisitive  concerning  ideas  of  progress, — on  the  whole, 
Giovanni  thought  himself  what  his  father  had  been  in 
his  youth,  and  more  or  less  what  he  hoped  his  sons,  if  he 
ever  had  any,  would  be  after  him. 

But  there  was  more  in  him  than  all  this,  and  at  the 
first  distant  sound  of  battle  he  felt  the  spirit  stir  within 
him,  for  his  real  nature  was  brave  and  loyal,  unselfish  and 
devoted,  instinctively  sympathizing  with  the  weak  and 
hating  the  lukewarm.  He  had  told  Del  Ferice  that  he 
believed  he  would  fight  as  a  matter  of  principle  :  as  he 
leaned  against  the  marble  pillar  of  the  door  in  the  Palazzo 
Frangipani,  he  wished  the  fight  had  already  begun. 

Waiting  there,  and  staring  into  the  moving  crowd,  he 
was  aware  of  a  young  man  with  pale  and  delicate  features 
and  black  hair,  who  stood  quietly  by  his  side,  and  seemed 
like  himself  an  idle  though  not  uninterested  spectator  of 
the  scene.  Giovanni  glanced  once  at  the  young  fellow, 
and  thought  he  recognised  him,  and  glancing  again,  he  met 
his  earnest  look,  and  saw  that  it  was  Anastase  Gouache, 
the  painter.  Giovanni  knew  him  slightly,  for  Gouache 
was  regarded  as  a  rising  celebrity,  and,  thanks  to  Donna 
Tullia,  was  invited  to  most  of  the  great  receptions  and 
balls  of  that  season,  though  he  was  not  yet  anywhere  on 
a  footing  of  intimacy.  Gouache  was  proud,  and  would 
perhaps  have  stood  aloof  altogether  rather  than  be  treated 
as  one  of  the  herd  who  are  asked  "  with  everybody,"  as 
the  phrase  goes ;  but  he  was  of  an  observing  turn  of  mind, 
and  it  amused  him  immensely  to  stand  unnoticed,  follow- 


SARACINESCA.  127 

ing  the  movements  of  society's  planets,  comets,  and  satel 
lites,  and  studying  the  many  types  of  the  cosmopolitan 
Eoman  world. 

"  Good  evening,  Monsieur  Gouache,"  said  Giovanni. 

"Good  evening,  prince,"  replied  the  artist,  with  a 
somewhat  formal  bow — after  which  both  men  relapsed 
into  silence,  and  continued  to  watch  the  crowd. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  our  Kornan  world  ? " 
asked  Giovanni,  presently. 

"  I  cannot  compare  it  to  any  other  world,"  answered 
Gouache,  simply.  "I  never  went  into  society  till  I  came 
to  Kome.  I  think  it  is  at  once  brilliant  and  sedate — it 
has  a  magnificent  air  of  historical  antiquity,  and  it  is  a 
little  paradoxical." 

"  Where  is  the  paradox  ?  "  inquired  Giovanni. 

"  '  Es-tu  libre  ?    Les  lois  sont-elles  respectfies  ? 
Crains-tu  de  voir  ton  champ  pi!16  par  le  voisin  ? 
Le  maitre  a-t-il  son  toit,  et  Pouvrier  son  pain  ? '  " 

A  smile  flickered  over  the  young  artist's  face  as  he 
quoted  Musset's  lines  in  answer  to  Giovanni's  question. 
Giovanni  himself  laughed,  and  looked  at  Anastase  with 
somewhat  increased  interest. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  we  are  revelling  under  the  sword 
of  Damocles — dancing  on  the  eve  of  our  execution  ?  " 

"  Not  precisely.  A  delicate  flavour  of  uncertainty  about 
to-morrow  gives  zest  to  the  appetite  of  to-day.  It  is  im 
possible  that  such  a  large  society  should  be  wholly  uncon 
scious  of  its  own  imminent  danger — and  yet  these  men 
and  women  go  about  to-night  as  if  they  were  Romans  of 
old,  rulers  of  the  world,  only  less  sure  of  themselves  than 
of  the  stability  of  their  empire." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Giovanni,  glancing  curiously  at  the 
pale  young  man  beside  him.  "  In  answer  to  your  quota 
tion,  I  can  say  that  I  am  as  free  as  I  care  to  be ;  that  the 
laws  are  sufficiently  respected ;  that  no  one  has  hitherto 
thought  it  worth  while  to  plunder  my  acres ;  that  I  have 
a  modest  roof  of  my  ownj  and  that,  as  far  as  I  am  aware, 


128  SARACINESCA. 

there  are  no  workmen  starving  in  the  streets  at  present. 
You  are  answered,  it  seems  to  me,  Monsieur  Gouache." 

"  Is  that  really  your  belief  ?  "  asked  the  artist,  quietly. 

"  Yes.  As  for  my  freedom,  I  am  as  free  as  air ;  no  one 
thinks  of  hindering  my  movements.  As  for  the  laws,  they 
are  made  for  good  citizens,  and  good  citizens  will  respect 
them;  if  bad  citizens  do  not,  that  is  their  loss.  My  acres 
are  safe,  possibly  because  they  are  not  worth  taking, 
though  they  yield  me  a  modest  competence  sufficient  for 
my  needs  and  for  the  needs  of  those  who  cultivate  them 
for  me." 

"  And  yet  there  is  a  great  deal  of  talk  in  Rome  about 
misery  and  injustice  and  oppression " 

"There  will  be  a  great  deal  more  talk  about  those  evils, 
with  much  better  cause,  if  people  who  think  like  you  suc 
ceed  in  bringing  about  a  revolution,  Monsieur  Gouache," 
answered  Giovanni,  coldly. 

"  If  many  people  think  like  you,  prince,  a  revolution 
is  not  to  be  thought  of.  As  for  me  I  am  a  foreigner  and 
I  see  what  I  can,  and  listen  to  what  I  hear." 

"  A  revolution  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  was  tried 
here  and  failed.  If  we  are  overcome  by  a  great  power 
from  without,  we  shall  have  no  choice  but  to  yield,  if 
any  of  us  survive — for  we  would  fight.  But  we  have 
nothing  to  fear  from  within." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  returned  Gouache,  thoughtfully.  "  I 
hear  such  opposite  opinions  that  I  hardly  know  what  to 
think." 

"  I  hear  that  you  are  to  paint  Cardinal  Antonelli's  por 
trait,"  said  Giovanni.  "Perhaps  his  Eminence  will  help 
you  to  decide." 

"  Yes ;  they  say  he  is  the  cleverest  man  in  Europe." 

"In  that  opinion  they — whoever  they  may  be — are 
mistaken,"  replied  Giovanni.  "  But  he  is  a  man  of  im 
mense  intellect,  nevertheless." 

"  I  am  not  sure  whether  I  will  paint  his  portrait  after 
all,"  said  Gouache. 

"  You  do  not  wish  to  be  persuaded  ?  " 


SAEACINESCA.  129 

"  No.  My  own  ideas  please  me  very  well  for  the  pres 
ent.  I  would  not  exchange  them  for  those  of  any  one  else." 

"  May  I  ask  what  those  ideas  are  ?  "  inquired  Giovanni, 
with  a  show  of  interest. 

"I  am  a  republican,"  answered  Gouache,  quietly.  " I 
am  also  a  good  Catholic." 

"  Then  you  are  yourself  much  more  paradoxical  than 
the  whole  of  our  Roman  society  put  together/'  answered 
Giovanni,  with  a  dry  laugh. 

"Perhaps.  There  comes  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  world." 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  Corona  arrived,  old 
Astrardente  sauntering  jauntily  by  her  side,  his  face  ar 
ranged  with  more  than  usual  care,  and  his  glossy  wig 
curled  cunningly  to  represent  nature.  He  was  said  to 
possess  a  number  of  wigs  of  different  lengths,  which  he 
wore  in  rotation,  thus  sustaining  the  impression  that  his 
hair  was  cut  from  time  to  time.  In  his  eye  a  single  eye 
glass  was  adjusted,  and  as  he  walked  he  swung  his  hat 
delicately  in  his  tightly  gloved  fingers.  He  wore  the 
plainest  of  collars  and  the  simplest  of  gold  studs  j  no  chain 
dangled  showily  from  his  waistcoat-pocket,  and  his  small 
feet  were  encased  in  little  patent-leather  shoes.  But  for 
his  painted  face,  he  might  have  passed  for  the  very  incar 
nation  of  fashionable  simplicity.  But  his  face  betrayed 
him. 

As  for  Corona,  she  was  dazzlingly  beautiful.  Not  that 
any  colour  or  material  she  wore  could  greatly  enhance  her 
beauty,  for  all  who  saw  her  on  that  memorable  night  re 
membered  the  wonderful  light  in  her  face,  and  the  strange 
look  in  her  splendid  eyes ;  but  the  thick  soft  fall  of  the 
white  velvet  made  as  it  were  a  pedestal  for  her  loveliness, 
and  the  Astrardente  jewels  that  clasped  her  waist  and 
throat  and  crowned  her  black  hair,  collected  the  radiance 
of  the  many  candles,  and  made  the  light  cling  to  her  and 
follow  her  as  she  walked.  Giovanni  saw  her  enter,  and 
his  whole  adoration  came  upon  him  as  a  madness  upon  a 
sick  man  in  a  fever,  so  that  he  would  have  sprung  forward 


130  SAKACINESCA. 

to  meet  her,  and  fallen  at  her  feet  and  worshipped  her, 
had  he  not  suddenly  felt  that  he  was  watched  by  more 
than  one  of  the  many  who  paused  to  see  her  go  by.  He 
moved  from  his  place  and  waited  near  the  door  where  she 
would  have  to  pass,  and  for  a  moment  his  heart  stood  still. 

He  hardly  knew  how  it  was.  He  found  himself  speak 
ing  to  her.  He  asked  her  for  a  dance,  he  asked  boldly  for 
the  cotillon — he  never  knew  how  he  had  dared ;  she  as 
sented,  let  her  eyes  rest  upon  him  for  one  moment  with  an 
indescribable  expression,  then  grew  very  calm  and  cold, 
and  passed  on. 

It  was  all  over  in  an  instant.  Giovanni  moved  back 
to  his  place  as  she  went  by,  and  stood  still  like  a  man 
stunned.  It  was  well  that  there  were  yet  nearly  two 
hours  before  the  preliminary  dancing  would  be  over ;  he 
needed  some  time  to  collect  himself.  The  air  seemed  full 
of  strange  voices,  and  he  watched  the  moving  faces  as  in 
a  dream,  unable  to  concentrate  his  attention  upon  any 
thing  he  saw. 

"  He  looks  as  though  he  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis,"  said 
a  woman's  voice  near  him.  It  did  not  strike  him,  in  his 
strange  bewilderment,  that  it  was  Donna  Tullia  who  had 
spoken,  still  less  that  she  was  speaking  of  him  almost  to 
him. 

"  Something  very  like  it,  I  should  say,"  answered  Del 
Ferice's  oily  voice.  "  He  has  probably  been  ill  since  you 
saw  him.  Saracinesca  is  an  unhealthy  place." 

Giovanni  turned,  sharply  round. 

"  Yes ;  we  were  speaking  of  you,  Don  Giovanni,"  said 
Donna  Tullia,  with  some  scorn.  "  Does  it  strike  you  that 
you  were  exceedingly  rude  in  not  letting  me  know  that 
you  were  going  out  of  town  when  you  had  promised  to 
dance  with  me  at  the  Valdarno  ball  ?  "  She  curled  her 
small  lip  and  showed  her  sharp  white  teeth.  Giovanni 
was  a  man  of  the  world,  however,  and  was  equal  to  the 
occasion. 

"  I  apologise  most  humbly,"  he  said.  "  It  was  indeed 
very  rude ;  but  in  the  urgency  of  the  case,  I  forgot  all 


SARACINESCA.  131 

other  engagements.  I  really  beg  your  pardon.  Will  you 
honour  me  with  a  dance  this  evening  ?  " 

"I  have  every  dance  engaged,"  answered  Madame 
Mayer,  coldly  staring  at  him. 

"  I  am  very  sorry/7  said  Giovanni,  inwardly  thanking 
heaven  for  his  good  fortune,  and  wishing  she  would  go 
away. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  judging  that  she 
had  produced  the  desired  effect  upon  him.  "  Let  me  look. 
I  believe  I  have  one  waltz  left.  Let  me  see.  Yes,  the 
one  before  the  last — you  can  have  it  if  you  like." 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  Giovanni,  greatly  annoyed. 
"  I  will  remember." 

Madame  Mayer  laid  her  hand  upon  Del  Ferice's  arm, 
and  moved  away.  She  was  a  vain  woman,  and  being  in 
love  with  Saracinesca  after  her  own  fashion,  could  not 
understand  that  he  should  be  wholly  indifferent  to  her. 
She  thought  that  in  telling  him  she  had  no  dances  she  had 
given  him  a  little  wholesome  punishment,  and  that  in  giv 
ing  one  after  all  she  had  conferred  a  favour  upon  him. 
She  also  believed  that  she  had  annoyed  Del  Ferice,  which 
always  amused  her.  But  Del  Ferice  was  more  than  a 
match  for  her,  with  his  quiet  ways  and  smooth  tongue. 

They  went  into  the  ball-room  together  and  danced  a  few 
minutes.  When  the  music  ceased,  Ugo  excused  himself 
on  the  plea  that  he  was  engaged  for  the  quadrille  that 
followed.  He  at  once  set  out  in  search  of  the  Duchessa 
d'Astrardente,  and  did  not  lose  sight  of  her  again.  She 
did  not  dance  before  the  cotillon,  she  said ;  and  she  sat 
down  in  a  high  chair  in  the  picture-gallery,  while  three  or 
four  men,  among  whom  was  Valdarno,  sat  and  stood  near 
her,  doing  their  best  to  amuse  her.  Others  came,  and  some 
went  away,  but  Corona  did  not  move,  and  sat  amongst 
her  little  court,  glad  to  have  the  time  pass  in  any  way 
until  the  cotillon.  When  Del  Ferice  had  ascertained  her 
position,  he  went  about  his  business,  which  was  mani 
fold — dancing  frequently,  and  making  a  point  of  speaking 
to  every  one  in  the  room.  At  the  end  of  an  hour,  he 


132  SAKACINESCA. 

joined  the  group  of  men  around  the  Duchessa  and  took 
part  in  the  conversation. 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  make  the  talk  turn  upon 
Giovanni  Saracinesca.  Every  one  was  more  or  less  curious 
about  the  journey  he  had  made,  and  especially  about  the 
cause  of  his  absence.  Each  of  the  men  had  something  to 
say,  and  each,  knowing  the  popular  report  that  Giovanni 
was  in  love  with  Corona,  said  his  say  with  as  much  wit  as 
he  could  command.  Corona  herself  was  interested,  for  she 
alone  understood  his  sudden  absence,  and  was  anxious  to 
hear  the  common  opinion  concerning  it. 

The  theories  advanced  were  various.  Some  said  he  had 
been  quarrelling  with  the  local  authorities  of  Saracinesca, 
who  interfered  with  his  developments  and  improvements 
upon  the  estate,  and  they  gave  laughable  portraits  of  the 
village  sages  with  whom  he  had  been  engaged.  Others 
said  he  had  only  stopped  there  a  day,  and  had  been  in 
Naples.  One  said  he  had  been  boar-hunting ;  another, 
that  the  Saracinesca  woods  had  been  infested  by  a  band 
of  robbers,  who  were  terrorising  the  country. 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  Del  Ferice  ?  "  asked  Corona, 
seeing  a  cunning  smile  upon  the  man's  pale  fat  face. 

"It  is  very  simple,"  said  Ugo;  "it  is  a  very  simple 
matter  indeed.  If  the  Duchessa  will  permit  me,  I  will 
call  him,  and  we  will  ask  him  directly  what  he  has  been 
doing.  There  he  stands  with  old  Cantalorgano  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room.  Public  curiosity  demands  to  be 
satisfied.  May  I  call  him,  Duchessa  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Corona,  quickly.  But  before  she 
had  spoken,  Valdarno,  who  was  always  sanguine  and  im 
pulsive,  had  rapidly  crossed  the  gallery  and  was  already 
speaking  to  Giovanni.  The  latter  bowed  his  head  as 
though  obeying  an  order,  and  came  quietly  back  with  the 
young  man  who  had  called  him.  The  crowd  of  men 
parted  before  him  as  he  advanced  to  the  Duchessa's  chair, 
and  stood  waiting  in  some  surprise. 

"  What  are  your  commands,  Duchessa  ?  "  he  asked,  in 
somewhat  formal  tones. 


SAEACINESCA.  133 

"Valdarno  is  too  quick,"  answered  Corona,  who  was 
greatly  annoyed.  "Some  one  suggested  calling  you  to 
settle  a  dispute,  and  he  went  before  I  could  stop  him.  I 
fear  it  is  very  impertinent  of  us." 

"  I  am  entirely  at  your  service,"  said  Giovanni,  who  was 
delighted  at  having  been  called,  and  had  found  time  to 
recover  from  his  first  excitement  on  seeing  her.  "  What 
is  the  question  ?  " 

"  We  were  all  talking  about  you,"  said  Valdarno. 

"  We  were  wondering  where  you  had  been,"  said  an 
other. 

"  They  said  you  had  gone  boar-hunting." 

"  Or  to  Naples." 

"  Or  even  to  Paris."    Three  or  four  spoke  in  one  breath. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  flattered  at  the  interest  you  all  show 
in  me,"  said  Giovanni,  quietly.  "  There  is  very  little  to 
tell.  I  have  been  in  Saracinesca  upon  a  matter  of  busi 
ness,  spending  my  days  in  the  woods  with  my  steward, 
and  my  nights  in  keeping  away  the  cold  and  the  ghosts. 
I  would  have  invited  you  all  to  join  the  festivity,  had  I 
known  how  much  you  were  interested.  The  beef  up  there 
is  monstrously  tough,  and  the  rats  are  abominably  noisy, 
but  the  mountain  air  is  said  to  be  very  healthy." 

Most  of  the  men  present  felt  that  they  had  not  only 
behaved  foolishly,  but  had  spoiled  the  little  circle  around 
the  Duchessa  by  introducing  a  man  who  had  the  power  to 
interest  her,  whereas  they  could  only  afford  her  a  little 
amusement.  Valdarno  was  still  standing,  and  his  chair 
beside  Corona  was  vacant.  Giovanni  calmly  installed  him 
self  upon  it,  and  began  to  talk  as  though  nothing  had 
happened. 

"  You  are  not  dancing,  Duchessa,"  he  remarked.  "  I 
suppose  you  have  been  in  the  ball-room  ?  " 

"Yes — but  I  am  rather  tired  this  evening.  I  will 
wait." 

"  You  were  here  at  the  last  great  ball,  before  the  old 
prince  died,  were  you  not  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  remembering 
that  he  had  first  seen  her  on  that  occasion. 


134  SABACINESCA. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  and  I  remember  that  we  danced 
together ;  and  the  accident  to  the  window,  and  the  story 
of  the  ghost." 

So  they  fell  into  conversation,  and  though  one  or  two  of 
the  men  ventured  an  ineffectual  remark,  the  little  circle 
dropped  away,  and  Giovanni  was  left  alone  by  the  side  of 
the  Duchessa.  The  distant  opening  strains  of  a  waltz 
came  floating  down  the  gallery,  but  neither  of  the  two 
heard,  nor  cared. 

"  It  is  strange,"  Giovanni  said.  "  They  say  it  has  al 
ways  happened,  since  the  memory  of  man.  No  one  has 
ever  seen  anything,  but  whenever  there  is  a  great  ball, 
there  is  a  crash  of  broken  glass  some  time  in  the  course  of 
the  evening.  Nobody  could  ever  explain  why  that  window 
fell  in,  five  years  ago — five  years  ago  this  month, — this 
very  day,  I  believe,"  he  continued  suddenly,  in  the  act  of 
recollection.  "Yes — the  nineteenth  of  January,  I  remem 
ber  very  well — it  was  my  mother's  birthday." 

"It  is  not  so  extraordinary,"  said  Corona,  "for  it  chances 
to  be  the  name-day  of  the  present  prince.  That  was  prob 
ably  the  reason  why  it  was  chosen  this  year."  She  spoke 
a  little  nervously,  as  though  still  ill  at  ease. 

"  But  it  is  very  strange,"  said  Giovanni,  in  a  low  voice. 
"It  is  strange  that  we  should  have  met  here  the  first 
time,  and  that  we  should  not  have  met  here  since,  until 
—to-day." 

He  looked  towards  her  as  he  spoke,  and  their  eyes  met 
and  lingered  in  each  other's  gaze.  Suddenly  the  blood 
mounted  to  Corona's  cheeks,  her  eyelids  drooped,  she 
leaned  back  in  her  seat  and  was  silent. 

Far  off,  at  the  entrance  to  the  ball-room,  Del  Ferice 
found  Donna  Tullia  alone.  She  was  very  angry.  The 
dance  for  which  she  was  engaged  to  Giovanni  Saracinesca 
had  begun,  and  was  already  half  over,  and  still  he  did  not 
come.  Her  pink  face  was  unusually  flushed,  and  there 
was  a  disagreeable  look  in  her  blue  eyes. 

"  Ah ! — I  see  Don  Giovanni  has  again  forgotten  his 
engagement,"  said  Ugo,  in  smooth  tones.  He  well  knew 


SARACINESCA.  135 

that  he  himself  had  brought  about  the  omission,  but 
none  could  have  guessed  it  from  his  manner.  "  May  I 
have  the  honour  of  a  turn  before  your  cavalier  arrives  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  angrily.  "  Give  me  your 
arm.  We  will  go  and  find  him."  She  almost  hissed  the 
words  through  her  closed  teeth. 

She  hardly  knew  that  Del  Ferice  was  leading  her  as 
they  moved  towards  the  picture-gallery,  passing  through 
the  crowded  rooms  that  lay  between.  She  never  spoke ;  but 
her  movement  was  impetuous,  and  she  resented  being 
delayed  by  the  hosts  of  men  and  women  who  filled  the 
way.  As  they  entered  the  long  apartment,  where  the 
portraits  of  the  Frangipani  lined  the  walls  from  end  to 
end,  Del  Ferice  uttered  a  well-feigned  exclamation. 

"  Oh,  there  he  is ! "  he  cried.  "  Do  you  see  him  ? — his 
back  is  turned — he  is  alone  with  the  Astrardente." 

"Come,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  shortly.  Del  Ferice  would 
have  preferred  to  have  let  her  go  alone,  and  to  have  wit 
nessed  from  a  distance  the  scene  he  had  brought  about. 
But  he  could  not  refuse  to  accompany  Madame  Mayer. 

Neither  Corona,  who  was  facing  the  pair,  but  was  talk 
ing  with  Giovanni,  nor  Giovanni  himself,  who  was  turned 
away  from  them,  noticed  their  approach  until  they  came 
and  stood  still  beside  them.  Saracinesca  looked  up  and 
started.  The  Duchessa  d' Astrardente  raised  her  black 
eyebrows  in  surprise. 

"  Our  dance  ! "  exclaimed  Giovanni,  in  considerable 
agitation.  "  It  is  the  one  after  this " 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  in  tones  trem 
bling  with  rage,  "it  is  already  over.  It  is  the  most 
unparalleled  insolence  !  " 

Giovanni  was  profoundly  disgusted  at  himself  and 
Donna  Tullia.  He  cared  not  so  much  for  the  humilia 
tion  itself,  which  was  bad  enough,  as  for  the  annoyance 
the  scene  caused  Corona,  who  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  in  angry  astonishment,  but  of  course  could  have 
nothing  to  say. 


136  SAKACINESCA. 

"  I  can  only  assure  you  that  I  thought " 

"You  need  not  assure  me  !  "  cried  Donna  Tullia,  losing 
all  self-control.  "  There  is  no  excuse,  nor  pardon — it  is 
the  second  time.  Do  not  insult  me  further,  by  inventing 
untruths  for  your  apology." 

"  Nevertheless "  began  Giovanni,  who  was  sincerely 

sorry  for  his  great  rudeness,  and  would  gladly  have  at 
tempted  to  explain  his  conduct,  seeing  that  Donna  Tullia 
was  so  justly  angry. 

"  There  is  no  nevertheless  ! "  she  interrupted.  "  You 
may  stay  where  you  are/'  she  added,  with  a  scornful  glance 
at  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente.  Then  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  Del  Feriee's  arm,  and  swept  angrily  past,  so  that 
the  train  of  her  red  silk  gown  brushed  sharply  against 
Corona's  soft  white  velvet. 

Giovanni  remained  standing  a  moment,  with  a  puzzled 
expression  upon  his  face. 

"  How  could  you  do  anything  so  rude  ?  "  asked  Corona, 
very  gravely.  "  She  will  never  forgive  you,  and  she  will 
be  quite  right." 

"I  do  not  know  how  I  forgot,"  he  answered,  seating 
himself  again.  "It  is  dreadful — unpardonable — but  per 
haps  the  consequences  will  be  good." 


CHAPTER  XL 

Corona  was  ill  at  ease.  In  the  first  few  moments  of 
being  alone  with  Giovanni  the  pleasure  she  felt  out 
weighed  all  other  thoughts.  But  as  the  minutes  length 
ened  to  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  then  to  half  an  hour,  she 
grew  nervous,  and  her  answers  came  more  and  more 
shortly.  She  said  to  herself  that  she  should  never  have 
given  him  the  cotillon,  and  she  wondered  how  the  re 
mainder  of  the  time  would  pass.  The  realisation  of  what 
had  occurred  came  upon  her,  and  the  hot  blood  rose  to 


SARACINESCA.  137 

her  face  and  ebbed  away  again,  and  rose  once  more.  Yet 
she  could  not  speak  out  what  her  pride  prompted  her  to 
say,  because  she  pitied  Giovanni  a  little,  and  was  willing 
to  think  for  a  moment  that  it  was  only  compassion  she 
felt,  lest  she  should  feel  that  she  must  send  him  away. 

But  Giovanni  sat  beside  her,  and  knew  that  the  spell 
was  working  upon  him,  and  that  there  was  no  salvation. 
He  had  taken  her  unawares,  though  he  hardly  knew  it, 
when  she  first  entered,  and  he  asked  her  suddenly  for  a 
dance.  He  had  wondered  vaguely  why  she  had  so  freely 
consented ;  but,  in  the  wild  delight  of  being  by  her  side, 
he  completely  lost  all  hold  upon  himself,  and  yielded  to 
the  exquisite  charm  of  her  presence,  as  a  man  who  has 
struggled  for  a  moment  against  a  powerful  opiate  sinks 
under  its  influence,  and  involuntarily  acknowledges  his 
weakness.  Strong  as  he  was,  his  strength  was  all  gone, 
and  he  knew  not  where  he  should  find  it. 

"  You  will  have  to  make  her  some  further  apology," 
said  Corona,  as  Madame  Mayer's  red  train  disappeared 
through  the  doorway  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

"Of  course — I  must  do  something  about  it,"  said 
Giovanni,  absently.  "  After  all,  I  do  not  wonder — it  is 
amazing  that  I  should  have  recognised  her  at  all.  I 
should  forget  anything  to-night,  except  that  I  am  to 
dance  with  you." 

The  Duchessa  looked  away,  and  fanned  herself  slowly ; 
but  she  sighed,  and  checked  the  deep-drawn  breath  as 
by  a  great  effort.  The  waltz  was  over,  and  the  dancers 
streamed  through  the  intervening  rooms  towards  the  gal 
lery  in  quest  of  fresher  air  and  freer  space.  Two  and 
two  they  came,  quickly  following  each  other  and  passing 
on,  some  filling  the  high  seats  along  the  walls,  others 
hastening  towards  the  supper-rooms  beyond.  A  few  min 
utes  earlier  Saracinesca  and  Corona  had  been  almost  alone 
in  the  great  apartment ;  now  they  were  surrounded  on  all 
sides  by  a  chattering  crowd  of  men  and  women,  with 
flushed  faces  or  unnaturally  pale,  according  as  the  effort 
of  dancing  affected  each,  and  the  indistinguishable  din  of 


138  SARACINESCA. 

hundreds  of  voices  so  filled  the  air  that  Giovanni  and  the 
Duchessa  could  hardly  hear  each  other  speak. 

"  This  is  intolerable,"  said  Giovanni,  suddenly.  "  You 
are  not  engaged  for  the  last  quadrille  ?  Shall  we  not  go 
away  until  the  cotillon  begins  ?  " 

Corona  hesitated  a  moment,  and  was  silent.  She 
glanced  once  at  Giovanni,  and  again  surveyed  the  moving 
crowd. 

"Yes,"  she  said  at  last ;  "let  us  go  away." 

"You  are  very  good,"  answered  Giovanni  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  offered  her  his  arm.  She  looked  at  him  in 
quiringly,  and  her  face  grew  grave,  as  they  slowly  made 
their  way  out  of  the  room. 

At  last  they  came  to  the  conservatory,  and  went  in 
among  the  great  plants  and  the  soft  lights.  There  was 
no  one  there,  and  they  slowly  paced  the  broad  walk  that 
was  left  clear  all  round  the  glass-covered  chamber,  arid 
up  and  down  the  middle.  The  plants  were  disposed  so 
thickly  as  to  form  almost  impenetrable  walls  of  green  on 
either  side;  and  at  one  end  there  was  an  open  space 
where  a  little  marble  fountain  played,  around  which  were 
disposed  seats  of  carved  wood.  But  Giovanni  and  Corona 
continued  to  walk  slowly  along  the  tiled  path. 

"  Why  did  you  say  I  was  good  just  now  ?  "  asked 
Corona  at  last.  Her  voice  sounded  cold. 

"I  should  not  have  said  it,  perhaps,"  answered  Gio 
vanni.  "  I  say  many  things  which  I  cannot  help  saying. 
I  am.  very  sorry." 

"I  am  very  sorry  too,"  answered  the  Duchessa,  quietly. 

"  Ah  !  if  you  knew,  you  would  forgive  me.  If  you 
could  guess  half  the  truth,  you  would  forgive  me." 

"  I  would  rather  not  guess  it." 

"  Of  course ;  but  you  have  already — you  know  it  all. 
Have  I  not  told  you  ?  "  Giovanni  spoke  in  despairing 
tones.  He  was  utterly  weak  and  spellbound;  he  could 
hardly  find  any  words  at  all. 

"  Don  Giovanni,"  said  Corona,  speaking  very  proudly 
and  calmly,  but  not  unkindly,  "I  have  known  you  so 


SARACINESCA.  139 

long,  I  believe  you  to  be  so  honourable  a  man,  that  I  am 
willing  to  suppose  that  you  said — what  you  said — in  a 
moment  of  madness." 

"  Madness !  It  was  madness  ;  but  it  is  more  sweet 
to  remember  than  all  the  other  doings  of  my  life,"  said 
Saracinesca,  his  tongue  unloosed  at  last.  "  If  it  is  mad 
ness  to  love  you,  I  am  mad  past  all  cure.  There  is  no 
healing  for  me  now  ;  I  shall  never  find  my  senses  again, 
for  they  are  lost  in  you,  and  lost  for  ever.  Drive  me 
away,  crush  me,  trample  on  me  if  you  will ;  you  cannot 
kill  me  nor  kill  my  madness,  for  I  live  in  you  and  for 
you,  and  I  cannot  die.  That  is  all.  I  am  not  eloquent 
as  other  men  are,  to  use  smooth  words  and  twist  phrases. 
I  love  you " 

"  You  have  said  too  much  already — too  much,  far  too 
much,"  murmured  Corona,  in  broken  tones.  She  had 
withdrawn  her  hand  from  his  during  his  passionate 
speech,  and  stood  back  from  him  against  the  dark  wall 
of  green  plants,  her  head  drooping  upon  her  breast,  her 
fingers  clasped  fast  together.  His  short  rude  words  were 
terribly  sweet  to  hear;  it  was  fearful  to  think  that  she 
was  alone  with  him,  that  one  step  would  bring  her  to 
his  side,  that  with  one  passionate  impulse  she  might 
throw  her  white  arms  about  his  neck,  that  one  faltering 
sigh  of  overwhelming  love  might  bring  her  queenly  head 
down  upon  his  shoulder.  Ah,  God!  how  gladly  she 
would  let  her  tears  flow  and  speak  for  her !  how  un 
utterably  sweet  it  would  be  to  rest  for  one  instant  in  his 
arms,  to  love  and  be  loved  as  she  longed  to  be  ! 

"  You  are  so  cold,"  he  cried,  passionately.  "  You  can 
not  understand.  All  spoken  words  are  not  too  much,  are 
not  enough  \  )move  you,  to  make  you  see  that  I  do  really 
worship  and  adore  you ;  you,  the  whole  of  you — your  glo 
rious  face,  your  sweet  small  hands,  your  queenly  ways, 
the  light  of  your  eyes,  and  the  words  of  your  lips — all 
of  you,  body  and  soul,  I  love.  I  would  I  might  die  now, 
for  you  know  it,  even  if  you  will  not  understand " 

He  moved  a  step  nearer  to  her,  stretching  out  his  hands 


140  SARACINESCA. 

as  he  spoke.  Corona  trembled  convulsively,  and  her  lips 
turned  white  in  the  torture  of  temptation ;  she  leaned  far 
back  against  the  green  leaves,  staring  wildly  at  Giovanni, 
held  as  in  a  vice  by  the  mighty  passions  of  love  and  fear. 
Having  yielded  her  ears  to  his  words,  they  fascinated  her 
horribly.  He,  poor  man,  had  long  lost  all  control  of  him 
self.  His  resolutions,  long  pondered  in  the  solitude  of 
Saracinesca,  had  vanished  like  unsubstantial  vapours  be 
fore  a  strong  fire,  and  his  heart  and  soul  were  ablaze. 

"Do  not  look  at  me  so,"  he  said  almost  tenderly.  "Do 
not  look  at  me  as  though  you  feared  me,  as  though  you 
hated  me.  Can  you  not  see  that  it  is  I  who  fear  you  as 
well  as  love  you,  who  tremble  at  your  coldness,  who  watch 
for  your  slightest  kind  look  ?  Ah,  Corona,  you  have  made 
me  so  happy  ! — there  is  no  angel  in  all  heaven  but  would 
give  up  his  Paradise  to  change  for  mine  ! " 

He  had  taken  her  hand  and  pressed  it  wildly  to  his  lips. 
Her  eyelids  drooped,  and  her  head  fell  back  for  one  mo 
ment.  They  stood  so  very  near  that  his  arm  had  almost 
stolen  about  her  slender  waist,  he  almost  thought  he  was 
supporting  her. 

Suddenly,  without  the  least  warning,  she  drew  herself 
up  to  her  full  height,  and  thrust  Giovanni  back  to  her 
arm's  length,  strongly,  almost  roughly. 

"  Never  ! "  she  said.  "  I  am  a  weak  woman,  but  not  so 
weak  as  that.  I  am  miserable,  but  not  so  miserable  as  to 
listen  to  you.  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  you  say  you  love  me 
— God  grant  it  is  not  true  !  but  you  say  it.  Then,  have 
you  no  honour,  no  courage,  no  strength  ?  Is  there  noth 
ing  of  the  man  left  in  you  ?  Is  there  no  truth  in  your  love, 
no  generosity  in  your  heart  ?  If  you  so  love  me  as  you 
say  you  do,  do  you  care  so  little  what  becomes  of  me  as 
to  tempt  me  to  love  you  ?  " 

She  spoke  very  earnestly,  not  scornfully  nor  angrily,  but 
in  the  certainty  of  strength  and  right,  and  in  the  strong 
persuasion  that  the  headstrong  man  would  hear  and  be 
convinced.  She  was  weak  no  longer,  for  one  desperate 
moment  her  fate  had  trembled  in  the  balance,  but  she  had 


SARACINESCA.  141 

not  hesitated  even  then ;  she  had  struggled  bravely,  and 
her  brave  soul  had  won  the  great  battle.  She  had  been 
weak  the  other  day  at  the  theatre,  in  letting  herself  ask 
the  question  to  which  she  knew  the  answer ;  she  had  been 
miserably  weak  that  very  night  in  so  abandoning  herself 
to  the  influence  she  loved  and  dreaded  ;  but  at  the  great 
moment,  when  heaven  and  earth  swam  before  her  as  in  a 
wild  and  unreal  mirage,  with  the  voice  of  the  man  she 
loved  ringing  in  her  ears,  speaking  such  words  as  it  was 
an  ecstasy  to  hear,  she  had  been  no  longer  weak — the 
reality  of  danger  had  brought  forth  the  sincerity  of  her 
goodness,  and  her  heart  had  found  courage  to  do  a  great 
deed.  She  had  overcome,  and  she  knew  it. 

Giovanni  stood  back  from  her,  and  hung  his  head.  In 
a  moment  the  force  of  his  passion  was  checked,  and  from 
the  supreme  verge  of  unspeakable  and  rapturous  delight, 
he  was  cast  suddenly  into  the  depths  of  his  own  remorse. 
He  stood  silent  before  her,  trembling  and  awestruck. 

"  You  cannot  understand  me,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  un 
derstand  myself.  But  this  I  know,  that  you  are  not  what 
you  have  seemed  to-night — that  there  is  enough  manliness 
and  nobility  in  you  to  respect  a  woman,  and  that  you  will 
hereafter  prove  that  I  am  right.  I  pray  that  I  may  not 
see  you  any  more  ;  but  if  I  must  see  you,  I  will  trust  you 
thus  much — say  that  I  may  trust  you,"  she  added,  her 
strong  smooth  voice  sinking  in  a  trembling  cadence,  half 
beseeching,  and  yet  wholly  commanding. 

Saracinesca  bent  his  heavy  brows,  and  was  silent  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  looked  up,  and  his  eyes  met  hers,  and 
seemed  to  gather  strength  from  her. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  see  you  sometimes,  you  may  trust 
me.  I  would  I  were  as  noble  and  good  as  you — I  am  not. 
I  will  try  to  be.  Ah,  Corona !  "  he  cried  suddenly,  "  for 
give  me,  forgive  me !  I  hardly  knew  what  I  said." 

"  Hush ! "  said  the  Duchessa,  gently ;  "  you  must  not 
speak  like  that,  nor  call  me  Corona.  Perhaps  I  am  wrong 
to  forgive  you  wholly,  but  I  believe  in  you.  I  believe  you 
will  understand,  and  that  you  will  be  worthy  of  the  trust 
I  place  in  you." 
Vol.  10—7 


142  SARACINESCA. 

"Indeed,  Duchessa,  none  shall  say  that  they  have 
trusted  me  in  vain,"  answered  Giovanni  very  proudly — 
"neither  man  nor  woman — and,  least  of  all  women,  you." 

"That  is  well,"  said  she,  with  a  faint  shadow  of  a 
smile.  "  I  would  rather  see  you  proud  than  reckless. 
See  that  you  remain  so — that  neither  by  word  nor  deed 
you  ever  remind  me  that  I  have  had  anything  to  forgive. 
It  is  the  only  way  in  which  any  intercourse  between  us 
can  be  possible  after  this — this  dreadful  night." 

Giovanni  bowed  his  head.  He  was  still  pale,  but  he 
had  regained  control  of  himself. 

"  I  solemnly  promise  that  I  will  not  recall  it  to  your 
memory,  and  I  implore  your  forgiveness,  even  though 
you  cannot  forget." 

"I  cannot  forget,"  said  Corona,  almost  under  her  breath. 
Giovanni's  eyes  flashed  for  a  moment.  "  Shall  we  go  back 
to  the  ball-room  ?  I  will  go  home  soon." 

As  they  turned  to  go,  a  loud  crash,  as  of  broken  glass, 
with  the  fall  of  some  heavy  body,  startled  them,  and  made 
them  stand  still  in  the  middle  of  the  walk.  The  noisy 
concussion  was  followed  by  a  complete  silence.  Corona, 
whose  nerves  had  been  severely  tried,  trembled  slightly. 

"  It  is  strange,"  she  said;  "they  say  it  always  happens." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  The  thick  web  of  plants 
hid  the  cause  of  the  noise  from  view,  whatever  it  might 
be.  Giovanni  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  about  to  see 
how  he  could  get  behind  the  banks  of  flower-pots.  Then 
he  left  Corona  without  a  word,  and  striding  to  the  end 
of  the  walk,  disappeared  into  the  depths  of  the  conserva 
tory.  He  had  noticed  that  there  was  a  narrow  entrance 
at  the  end  nearest  the  fountain,  intended  probably  to  ad 
mit  the  gardener  for  the  purpose  of  watering  the  plants. 
Corona  could  hear  his  quick  steps ;  she  thought  she  heard 
a  low  groan  and  a  voice  whispering, — but  she  might  have 
been  mistaken,  for  the  place  was  large,  and  her  heart  was 
beating  fast. 

Giovanni  had  not  gone  far  in  the  narrow  way,  which 
was  sufficiently  lighted  by  the  soft  light  of  the  many 


SARACINESCA.  143 

candles  concealed  in  various  parts  of  the  conservatory, 
when  he  came  upon  the  figure  of  a  man  sitting,  as  he  had 
apparently  fallen,  across  the  small  passage.  The  frag 
ments  of  a  heavy  earthenware  vase  lay  beyond  him,  with 
a  heap  of  earth  and  roots ;  and  the  tall  india-rubber  plant 
which  grew  in  it  had  fallen  against  the  sloping  glass  roof 
and  shattered  several  panes.  As  Giovanni  came  suddenly 
upon  him,  the  man  struggled  to  rise,  and  in  the  dim  light 
Saracinesca  recognised  Del  Ferice.  The  truth  flashed 
upon  him  at  once.  The  fellow  had  been  listening,  and 
had  probably  heard  all.  Giovanni  instantly  resolved  to 
conceal  the  fact  from  the  Duchessa,  to  whom  the  knowl 
edge  that  the  painful  scene  had  been  overheard  would  be 
a  bitter  mortification.  Giovanni  could  undertake  to 
silence  the  eavesdropper. 

Quick  as  thought  his  strong  brown  hands  gripped  the 
throat  of  Ugo  del  Ferice,  stifling  his  breath  like  a  collar 
of  iron. 

"  Dog ! "  he  whispered  fiercely  in  the  wretch's  ear,  "  if 
you  breathe,  I  will  kill  you  now !  You  will  find  me  in 
my  own  house  in  an  hour.  Be  silent  now ! "  Giovanni 
whispered,  with  such  a  terrible  grip  on  the  fellow's 
throat  that  his  eyeballs  seemed  starting  from  his  head. 
Then  he  turned  and  went  out  by  the  way  he  had  entered, 
leaving  Del  Ferice  writhing  with  pain  and  gasping  for 
breath.  As  he  joined  Corona,  his  face  betrayed  no  emo 
tion — he  had  been  so  pale  before  that  he  could  not  turn 
whiter  in  his  anger — but  his  eyes  gleamed  fiercely  at  the 
thought  of  fight.  The  Duchessa  stood  where  he  had  left 
her,  still  much  agitated. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  Giovanni,  with  a  forced  laugh,  as 
he  offered  her  his  arm  and  led  her  quickly  away.  "  Im 
agine.  A  great  vase  with  one  of  Frangipani's  favourite 
plants  in  it  had  been  badly  propped,  and  had  fallen  right 
through  the  glass,  outward." 

"It  is  strange,"  said  Corona.  "I  was  almost  sure  I 
heard  a  groan." 

"  It  was  the  wind.  The  glass  was  broken,  and  it  is  a 
stormy  night." 


144  SAEACINESCA. 

"  That  was  just  the  way  that  window  fell  in  five  years 
ago,"  said  Corona.  "Something  always  happens  here. 
I  think  I  will  go  home — let  us  find  my  husband." 

No  one  would  have  guessed,  from  Corona's  face,  that 
anything  extraordinary  had  occurred  in  the  half-hour  she 
had  spent  in  the  conservatory.  She  walked  calmly  by 
Giovanni's  side,  not  a  trace  of  excitement  on  her  pale 
proud  face,  not  a  sign  of  uneasiness  in  the  quiet  glance 
of  her  splendid  eyes.  She  had  conquered,  and  she  knew 
it,  never  to  be  tempted  again;  she  had  conquered  herself 
and  she  had  overcome  the  man  beside  her.  Giovanni 
glanced  at  her  in  wondering  admiration. 

"You  are  the  bravest  woman  in  the  world,  as  I  am 
the  most  contemptible  of  men,"  he  said  suddenly,  as 
they  entered  the  picture-gallery. 

"  I  am  not  brave,"  she  answered  calmly,  "  neither  are 
you  contemptible,  my  friend.  We  have  both  been  very 
near  to  our  destruction,  but  it  has  pleased  God  to  save  us." 

"  By  you,"  said  Saracinesca,  very  solemnly.  He  knew 
that  within  six  hours  he  might  be  lying  dead  upon  some 
plot  of  wet  grass  without  the  city,  and  he  grew  very 
grave,  after  the  manner  of  brave  men  when  death  is 
abroad. 

"  You  have  saved  my  soul  to-night,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"Will  you  give  me  your  blessing  and  whole  forgiveness  ? 
Do  not  laugh  at  me,  nor  think  me  foolish.  The  blessing 
of  such  women  as  you  should  make  men  braver  and 
better." 

The  gallery  was  again  deserted.  The  cotillon  had  be 
gun,  and  those  who  were  not  dancing  'were  at  supper. 
Corona  stood  still  for  one  moment  by  the  very  chair 
where  they  had  sat  so  long. 

"  I  forgive  you  wholly.  I  pray  that  all  blessings  may 
be  upon  you  always,  in  life  and  in  death,  for  ever." 

Giovanni  bowed  his  head  reverently.  It  seemed  as 
though  the  woman  he  so  loved  was  speaking  a  benedic 
tion  upon  his  death,  a  last  in  pace  which  should  follow 
him  for  all  eternity. 


SAKACINESCA.  145 

"In  life  and  in  death,  I  will  honour  you  truly  and 
serve  you  faithfully  for  ever,"  he  answered.  As  he 
raised  his  head,  Corona  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  she  felt  that  there  were  tears  in  her  own. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  and  they  passed  on  in  silence. 

She  found  her  husband  at  last  in  the  supper-room.  He 
was  leisurely  discussing  the  wing  of  a  chicken  and  a  small 
glass  of  claret-and-water,  with  a  gouty  ambassador  whose 
wife  had  insisted  upon  dancing  the  cotillon,  and  who  was 
revenging  himself  upon  a  Strasbourg  pdte  and  a  bottle  of 
dry  champagne. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  said  Astrardente,  looking  up  from  his 
modest  fare,  "you  have  been  dancing  ?  You  have  come 
to  supper  ?  You  are  very  wise.  I  have  danced  a  great 
deal  myself,  but  I  have  not  seen  you — the  room  was  so 
crowded.  Here — this  small  table  will  hold  us  all,  just  a 
quartet." 

"  Thanks — I  am  not  hungry.  Will  you  take  me  home 
when  you  have  finished  supper  ?  Or  are  you  going  to 
stay  ?  Do  not  wait,  Don  Giovanni ;  I  know  you  are  busy 
in  the  cotillon.  My  husband  will  take  care  of  me.  Good 
night." 

Giovanni  bowed,  and  went  away,  glad  to  be  alone  at 
last.  He  had  to  be  at  home  in  half  an  hour  according  to 
his  engagement,  and  he  had  to  look  about  him  for  a  friend. 
All  Rome  was  at  the  ball ;  but  the  men  upon  whom  he 
could  call  for  such  service  as  he  required,  were  all  dancing. 
Moreover,  he  reflected  that  in  such  a  matter  it  was  neces 
sary  to  have  some  one  especially  trustworthy.  It  would 
not  do  to  have  the  real  cause  of  the  duel  known,  and  the 
choice  of  a  second  was  a  very  important  matter.  He  never 
doubted  that  Del  Ferice  would  send  some  one  with  a 
challenge  at  the  appointed  time.  Del  Ferice  was  a 
scoundrel,  doubtless  ;  but  he  was  quick  with  the  foils, 
and  had  often  appeared  as  second  in  affairs  of  honour. 

Giovanni  stood  by  the  door  of  the  ball-room,  looking 
at  the  many  familiar  faces,  and  wondering  how  he  could 
induce  any  one  to  leave  his  partner  at  that  hour,  and  go 


146  SABACINESCA. 

home  with  him.  Suddenly  he  was  aware  that  his  father 
was  standing  beside  him  and  eyeing  him  curiously. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Giovannino  ?  "  inquired  the  old 
Prince.  "  Why  are  you  not  dancing  ?  " 

"The  fact  is "  began  Giovanni,  and  then  stopped 

suddenly.  An  idea  struck  him.  He  went  close  to  his 
father,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 

"  The  fact  is,  that  I  have  just  taken  a  man  by  the  throat 
and  otherwise  insulted  him,  by  calling  him  a  dog.  The 
fellow  seemed  annoyed,  and  so  I  told  him  he  might  send 
to  our  house  in  an  hour  for  an  explanation.  I  cannot  find 
a  friend,  because  everybody  is  dancing  this  abominable 
cotillon.  Perhaps  you  can  help  me,"  he  added,  looking  at 
his  father  rather  doubtfully.  To  his  surprise  and  consider 
able  relief  the  old  Prince  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"  Of  course,"  he  cried.  "  What  do  you  take  me  for  ? 
Do  you  think  I  would  desert  my  boy  in  a  fight  ?  Go  and 
call  my  carriage,  and  wait  for  me  while  I  pick  up  some 
body  for  a  witness ;  we  can  talk  on  the  way  home." 

The  old  Prince  had  been  a  duellist  in  his  day,  and  he 
would  no  more  have  thought  of  advising  his  son  not  to 
fight  than  of  refusing  a  challenge  himself.  He  was,  more 
over,  exceedingly  bored  at  the  ball,  and  not  in  the  least 
sleepy.  The  prospect  of  an  exciting  night  was  novel  and 
delightful.  He  knew  Giovanni's  extraordinary  skill,  and 
feared  nothing  for  him.  He  knew  everybody  in  the  ball 
room  was  engaged,  and  he  went  straight  to  the  supper- 
table,  expecting  to  find  some  one  there.  Astrardente,  the 
Duchessa,  and  the  gouty  ambassador  were  still  together, 
as  Giovanni  had  left  them  a  moment  before.  The  Prince 
did  not  like  Astrardente,  but  he  knew  the  ambassador 
very  well.  He  called  him  aside,  with  an  apology  to  the 
Duchessa. 

"I  want  a  young  man  immediately,"  said  old  Sara- 
cinesca,  stroking  his  white  beard  with  his  broad  brown 
hand.  "  Can  you  tell  of  any  one  who  is  not  dancing  ?  " 

"  There  is  Astrardente,"  answered  his  Excellency,  with 
an  ironical  smile.  "  A  duel  ?  "  he  asked. 


SARACINESCA.  147 

Saracinesca  nodded. 

"I  am  too  old,"  said  the  diplomatist,  thoughtfully; 
"  but  it  would  be  infinitely  amusing.  I  cannot  give  you 
one  of  my  secretaries  either.  It  always  makes  such  a 
scandal.  Oh,  there  goes  the  very  man!  Catch  him 
before  it  is  too  late  ! " 

Old  Saracinesca  glanced  in  the  direction  the  ambas 
sador  indicated,  and  darted  away.  He  was  as  active  as 
a  boy,  in  spite  of  his  sixty  years. 

"  Eh ! "  he  cried.  "  Hi !  you  !  Come  here  !  Spicca  ! 
Stop  !  Excuse  me — I  am  in  a  great  hurry !  " 

Count  Spicca,  whom  he  thus  addressed,  paused  and 
looked  round  through  his  single  eyeglass  in  some  sur 
prise.  He  was  an  immensely  tall  and  cadaverous-look 
ing  man,  with  a  black  beard  and  searching  grey  eyes. 

"  I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  Prince  hurriedly, 
in  a  low  voice,  as  he  came  up,  "but  I  am  in  a  great 
hurry — an  affair  of  honour — will  you  be  witness  ?  My 
carriage  is  at  the  door." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Count  Spicca,  quietly ;  and  with 
out  further  comment  he  accompanied  the  Prince  to  the 
outer  hall.  Giovanni  was  waiting,  and  the  Prince's  foot 
man  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  In  three  minutes 
the  father  and  son  and  the  melancholy  Spicca  were  seated 
in  the  carriage,  on  their  way  to  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca. 

"  Now  then,  Giovannino,"  said  the  Prince,  as  he  lit  a 
cigarette  in  the  darkness,  "  tell  us  all  about  it." 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  said  Giovanni.  "If  the 
challenge  arrives,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  fight. 
I  took  him  by  the  throat  and  nearly  strangled  him." 

"  Whom  ?  "  asked  Spicca,  mournfully. 

"  Oh !  it  is  Del  Ferice,"  answered  Giovanni,  who  had 
forgotten  that  he  had  not  mentioned  the  name  of  his 
probable  antagonist.  The  Prince  laughed. 

"  Del  Ferice  !  Who  would  have  thought  it  ?  He  is  a 
dead  man.  What  was  it  all  about  ?  " 

"That  is  unnecessary  to  say  here,"  said  Giovanni, 
quietly.  "He  insulted  me  grossly.  I  half-strangled 


148  SARACINESCA. 

him,  and  told  Mm  he  was  a  dog.  I  suppose  he  will 
fight." 

"Ah  yes;  he  will  probably  fight,"  repeated  Spicca, 
thoughtfully.  "  What  are  your  weapons,  Don  Giovanni  ?  " 

"  Anything  he  likes." 

"But  the  choice  is  yours  if  he  challenges,"  returned 
the  Count. 

"As  you  please.  Arrange  all  that — foils,  swords,  or 
pistols." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  take  much  interest  in  this  affair," 
remarked  Spicca,  sadly. 

"  He  is  best  with  foils,"  said  the  old  Prince. 

"Foils  or  pistols,  of  course,"  said  the  Count.  "Swords 
are  child's  play." 

Satisfied  that  his  seconds  meant  business,  Giovanni 
sank  back  in  his  corner  of  the  carriage,  and  was  silent. 

"  We  had  better  have  the  meeting  in  my  villa,"  said 
his  father.  "  If  it  rains,  they  can  fight  indoors.  I  will 
send  for  the  surgeon  at  once." 

In  a  few  moments  they  reached  the  Palazzo  Saracin- 
esca.  The  Prince  left  word  at  the  porter's  lodge  that 
any  gentlemen  who>  arrived  were  to  be  admitted,  and  all 
three  went  up-stairs.  It  was  half -past  two  o'clock. 

As  they  entered  the  apartments,  they  heard  a  carriage 
drive  under  the  great  archway  below. 

"  Go  to  your  rooms,  Giovannino,"  said  the  old  Prince. 
"  These  fellows  are  punctual.  I  will  call  you  when  they 
are  gone.  I  suppose  you  mean  business  seriously  ?  " 

"I  care  nothing  about  him.  I  will  give  him  any  satis 
faction  he  pleases,"  answered  Giovanni.  "It  is  very 
kind  of  you  to  undertake  the  matter — I  am  very  grate 
ful." 

"  I  would  not  leave  it  to  anybody  else,"  muttered  the 
old  Prince,  as  he  hurried  away  to  meet  Del  Ferice's 
seconds. 

Giovanni  entered  his  own  rooms,  and  went  straight  to 
his  writing-table.  He  took  a  pen  and  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  began  writing.  His  face  was  very  grave,  but  his 


SARACINESCA.  149 

hand  was  steady.  For  more  than  an  hour  he  wrote  with 
out  pausing.  Then  his  father  entered  the  room. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Giovanni,  looking  up. 

"  It  is  all  settled,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  seriously. 
"I  was  afraid  they  might  make  some  objection  to  me  as  a 
second.  You  know  there  is  an  old  clause  about  near  rela 
tions  acting  in  such  cases.  But  they  declared  that  they 
considered  my  co-operation  an  honour — so  that  is  all  right. 
You  must  do  your  best,  my  boy.  This  rascal  means  to 
hurt  you  if  he  can.  Seven  o'clock  is  the  time.  We  must 
leave  here  at  half-past  six.  You  can  sleep  two  hours  and 
a  half.  I  will  sit  up  and  call  you.  Spicca  has  gone  home 
to  change  his  clothes,  and  is  coming  back  immediately. 
Now  lie  down.  I  will  see  to  your  foils " 

"  Is  it  foils,  then  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  quietly. 

"Yes.  They  made  no  objection.  You  had  better  lie 
down." 

"  I  will.  Father,  if  anything  should  happen  to  me — it 
may,  you  know — you  will  find  my  keys  in  this  drawer, 
and  this  letter,  which  I  beg  you  will  read.  It  is  to 
yourself." 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  boy  !  Nothing  will  happen  to 
you — you  will  just  run  him  through  the  arm  and  come 
home  to  breakfast." 

The  old  Prince  spoke  in  his  rough  cheerful  way ;  but 
his  voice  trembled,  and  he  turned  aside  to  hide  two  great 
tears  that  had  fallen  upon  his  dark  cheeks  and  were  los 
ing  themselves  in  his  white  beard. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Giovanni  slept  soundly  for  two  hours.  He  was  very 
tired  with  the  many  emotions  of  the  night,  and  the 
arrangements  for  the  meeting  being  completed,  it  seemed 
as  though  work  were  over  and  the  pressure  removed.  It 


150  SAKACINESCA. 

is  said  that  men  will  sleep  for  hours  when  the  trial  is 
over  and  the  sentence  of  death  has  been  passed ;  and 
though  it  was  more  likely  that  Del  Ferice  would  be  killed 
than  that  Giovanni  would  be  hurt,  the  latter  felt  not 
unlike  a  man  who  has  been  tried  for  his  life.  He  had 
suffered  in  a  couple  of  hours  almost  every  emotion  of 
which  he  was  capable — his  love  for  Corona,  long  con 
trolled  and  choked  down,  had  broken  bounds  at  last,  and 
found  expression  for  itself ;  he  had  in  a  moment  suf 
fered  the  severest  humiliation  and  the  most  sincere  sor 
row  at  her  reproaches  ;  he  had  known  the  fear  of  seeing 
her  no  more,  and  the  sweetness  of  pardon  from  her  own 
lips ;  he  had  found  himself  on  a  sudden  in  a  frenzy  of 
righteous  wrath  against  Del  Ferice,  and  a  moment  later 
he  had  been  forced  to  hide  his  anger  under  a  calm  face  ; 
and  at  last,  when  the  night  was  far  spent,  he  had  received 
the  assurance  that  in  less  than  four  hours  he  would  have 
ample  opportunity  for  taking  vengeance  upon  the  cow 
ardly  eavesdropper  who  had  so  foully  got  possession  of 
the  one  secret  he  held  dear.  Worn  out  with  all  he  had 
suffered,  and  calm  in  the  expectation  of  the  morning's 
struggle,  Giovanni  lay  down  upon  his  bed  and  slept. 

Del  Ferice,  on  the  contrary,  was  very  wakeful.  He  had 
an  unpleasant  sensation  about  his  throat  as  though  he  had 
been  hanged,  and  cut  down  before  he  was  dead;  and  he 
suffered  the  unutterable  mortification  of  knowing  that, 
after  a  long  and  successful  social  career,  he  had  been  de 
tected  by  his  worst  enemy  in  a  piece  of  disgraceful  vil- 
lany.  In  the  first  place,  Giovanni  might  kill  him.  Del 
Ferice  was  a  very  good  fencer,  but  Saracinesca  was 
stronger  and  more  active  ;  there  was  certainly  considera 
ble  danger  in  the  duel.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  survived, 
Giovanni  had  him  in  his  power  for  the  rest  of  his  life, 
and  there  was  no  escape  possible.  He  had  been  caught 
listening — caught  in  a  flagrantly  dishonest  trick — and  he 
well  knew  that  if  the  matter  had  been  brought  before  a 
jury  of  honour,  he  would  have  been  declared  incompetent 
to  claim  any  satisfaction. 


SAKACINESCA.  151 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Del  Ferice  had  done  such 
things,  but  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  caught.  He 
cursed  his  awkwardness  in  oversetting  the  vase  just  at  the 
moment  when  his  game  was  successfully  played  to  the  end 
— just  when  he  thought  that  he  began  to  see  land,  in  hav 
ing  discovered  beyond  all  doubt  that  Giovanni  was  devoted 
body  and  soul  to  Corona  d'Astrardente.  The  information 
had  been  necessary  to  him,  for  he  was  beginning  seriously 
to  press  his  suit  with  Donna  Tullia,  and  he  needed  to  be 
sure  that  Giovanni  was  not  a  rival  to  be  feared.  He  had 
long  suspected  Saracinesca's  devotion  to  the  dark  Du- 
chessa,  and  by  constantly  putting  himself  in  his  way,  he 
had  done  his  best  to  excite  his  jealousy  and  to  stimulate 
his  passion.  Giovanni  never  could  have  considered  Del 
Ferice  as  a  rival ;  the  idea  would  havve  been  ridiculous. 
But  the  constant  annoyance  of  finding  the  man  by 
Corona's  side,  when  he  desired  to  be  alone  with  her,  had 
in  some  measure  heightened  the  effect  Del  Ferice  desired, 
though  it  had  not  actually  produced  it.  Being  a  good 
judge  of  character,  he  had  sensibly  reckoned  his  chances 
against  Giovanni,  and  he  had  formed  so  just  an  opinion 
of  the  man's  bold  and  devoted  character  as  to  be  abso 
lutely  sure  that  if  Saracinesa  loved  Corona  he  would  not 
seriously  think  of  marrying  Donna  Tullia.  He  had  done 
all  he  could  to  strengthen  the  passion  when  he  guessed 
it  was  already  growing,  and  at  the  very  moment  when  he 
had  received  circumstantial  evidence  of  it  which  placed 
it  beyond  all  doubt,  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be 
discovered,  through  his  own  unpardonable  carelessness. 

Evidently  the  only  satisfactory  way  out  of  the  difficulty 
was  to  kill  Giovanni  outright,  if  he  could  do  it.  In  that 
way  he  would  rid  himself  of  an  enemy,  and  at  the  same 
time  of  the  evidence  against  himself.  The  question  was, 
how  this  could  be  accomplished ;  for  Giovanni  was  a  man 
of  courage,  strength,  and  experience,  and  he  himself — Ugo 
del  Ferice — possessed  none  of  those  qualities  in  any  great 
degree.  The  result  was,  that  he  slept  not  at  all,  but  passed 
the  night  in  a  state  of  nervous  anxiety  by  no  means  con- 


152  SABACINESCA. 

ducive  to  steadiness  of  hand  or  calmness  of  the  nerves.  He 
was  less  pleased  than  ever  when  he  heard  that  Giovanni's 
seconds  were  his  own  father  and  the  melancholy  Spicca, 
who  was  the  most  celebrated  duellist  in  Italy,  in  spite  of 
his  cadaverous  long  body,  his  sad  voice,  and  his  expression 
of  mournful  resignation  to  the  course  of  events. 

In  the  event  of  his  neither  killing  Don  Giovanni  nor 
being  himself  killed,  what  he  most  dreaded  was  the  cer 
tainty  that  for  the  rest  of  his  life  he  must  be  in  his  enemy's 
power.  He  knew  that,  for  Corona's  sake,  Griovanni  would 
not  mention  the  cause  of  the  duel,  and  no  one  could  have 
induced  him  to  speak  of  it  himself ;  but  it  would  be  a 
terrible  hindrance  in  his  life  to  feel  at  every  turn  that  the 
man  he  hated  had  the  power  to  expose  him  to  the  world  as 
a  scoundrel  of  the  first  water.  What  he  had  heard  gave 
him  but  small  influence  over  Saracinesca,  though  it  was  of 
great  value  in  determining  his  own  action.  To  say  aloud 
to  the  world  that  Giovanni  loved  the  Duchessa  d'Astrar- 
dente  would  be  of  little  use.  Del  Ferice  could  not,  for 
very  shame,  tell  how  he  had  found  it  out ;  and  there  was 
no  other  proof  but  his  evidence,  for  he  guessed  that  from 
that  time  forward  the  open  relation  between  the  two  would 
be  even  more  formal  than  before — and  the  most  credulous 
people  do  not  believe  in  a  great  fire  unless  they  can  see  a 
little  smoke.  He  had  not  even  the  advantage  of  turning 
the  duel  to  account  in  his  interest  with  Donna  Tullia,  since 
Giovanni  could  force  him  to  deny  that  she  was  implicated 
in  the  question,  on  pain  of  exposing  his  treachery.  There 
was  palpably  no  satisfactory  way  out  of  the  matter  unless 
he  could  kill  his  adversary.  He  would  have  to  leave  the 
country  for  a  while ;  but  Giovanni  once  dead,  it  would  be 
easy  to  make  Donna  Tullia  believe  they  had  fought  on  her 
account,  and  to  derive  all  the  advantage  there  was  to  be 
gained  from  posing  before  the  world  as  her  defender. 

But  though  Del  Ferice's  rest  was  disturbed  by  the  con 
templation  of  his  difficulties,  he  did  not  neglect  any  pre 
caution  which  might  save  his  strength  for  the  morrow. 
He  lay  down  upon  his  bed,  stretching  himself  at  full 


SABACINESCA.  153 

length,  and  carefully  keeping  his  right  arm  free,  lest,  by 
letting  his  weight  fall  upon  it  as  he  lay,  he  should  benumb 
the  muscles  or  stiffen  the  joints ;  from  time  to  time  he 
rubbed  a  little  strengthening  ointment  upon  his  wrist,  and 
he  was  careful  that  the  light  should  not  shine  in  his  eyes 
and  weary  them.  At  six  o'clock  his  seconds  appeared  with 
the  surgeon  they  had  engaged,  and  the  four  men  were  soon 
driving  rapidly  down  the  Corso  towards  the  gate. 

So  punctual  were  the  two  parties  that  they  arrived 
simultaneously  at  the  gate  of  the  villa  which  had  been 
selected  for  the  encounter.  The  old  Prince  took  a  key 
from  his  pocket  and  himself  opened  the  great  iron  gate. 
The  carriages  drove  in,  and  the  gates  were  closed  by  the 
astonished  porter,  who  came  running  out  as  they  creaked 
upon  their  hinges.  The  light  was  already  sufficient  for 
the  purpose  of  fencing,  as  the  eight  men  descended 
simultaneously  before  the  house.  The  morning  was 
cloudy,  but  the  ground  was  dry.  The  principals  and 
seconds  saluted  each  other  formally.  Giovanni  withdrew 
to  a  little  distance  on  one  side  with  his  surgeon,  and  Del 
Ferice  stood  aside  with  his. 

The  melancholy  Spicca,  who  looked  like  the  shadow  of 
death  in  the  dim  morning  light,  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Of  course  you  know  the  best  spot  in  the  villa  ?  "  he 
said  to  the  old  Prince. 

"As  there  is  no  sun,  I  suggest  that  they  fight  upon 
the  ground  behind  the  house.  It  is  hard  and  dry." 

The  whole  party  followed  old  Saracinesca.  Spicca  had 
the  foils  in  a  green  bag.  The  place  suggested  by  the 
Prince  seemed  in  every  way  adapted,  and  Del  Ferice's 
seconds  made  no  objection.  There  was  absolutely  no 
choice  of  position  upon  the  ground,  which  was  an  open 
space  about  twenty  yards  square,  hard  and  well  rolled, 
preferable  in  every  way  to  a  grass  lawn. 

Without  further  comment,  Giovanni  took  off  his  coat 
and  waistcoat,  and  Del  Ferice,  who  looked  paler  and 
more  unhealthy  than  usual,  followed  his  example.  The 
seconds  crossed  sides  to  examine  the  principals'  shirts, 


154  SAKACINESCA. 

and  to  assure  themselves  that  they  wore  no  flannel 
underneath  the  unstarched  linen.  This  formality  being 
accomplished,  the  foils  were  carefully  compared,  and 
Giovanni  was  offered  the  first  choice.  He  took  the  one 
nearest  his  hand,  and  the  other  was  carried  to  Del  Ferice. 
They  were  simple  fencing  foils,  the  buttons  being  re 
moved  and  the  points  sharpened — there  was  nothing  to 
choose  between  them.  The  seconds  then  each  took  a 
sword,  and  stationed  the  combatants  some  seven  or  eight 
paces  apart,  while  they  themselves  stood  a  little  aside, 
each  upon  the  right  hand  of  his  principal,  and  the  wit 
nesses  placed  themselves  at  opposite  corners  of  the 
ground,  the  surgeons  remaining  at  the  ends  behind  the 
antagonists.  There  was  a  moment's  pause.  When  all  was 
ready,  old  Saracinesca  came  close  to  Giovanni,  while  Del 
Ferice's  second  approached  his  principal  in  like  manner. 

"  Giovanni,"  said  the  old  Prince,  gravely,  "  as  your 
second  I  am  bound  to  recommend  you  to  make  any  ad 
vance  in  your  power  towards  a  friendly  understanding. 
Can  you  do  so  ?  " 

"No,  father,  I  cannot,"  answered  Giovanni,  with  a 
slight  smile.  His  face  was  perfectly  calm,  and  of  a 
natural  colour.  Old  Saracinesca  crossed  the  ground,  and 
met  Casalverde,  the  opposite  second,  half-way.  Each 
formally  expressed  to  the  other  his  great  regret  that  no 
arrangement  would  be  possible,  and  then  retired  again  to 
the  right  hand  of  his  principal. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  Prince,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  are 
you  ready  ?  "  As  both  men  bowed  their  assent,  he  added 
immediately,  in  a  sharp  tone  of  command,  "  In  guard ! " 

Giovanni  and  Del  Ferice  each  made  a  step  forward, 
saluted  each  other  with  their  foils,  repeated  the  salute  to 
the  seconds  and  witnesses,  and  then  came  face  to  face 
and  fell  into  position.  Each  made  one  thrust  in  tierce 
at  the  other,  in  the  usual  fashion  of  compliment,  each 
parrying  in  the  same  way. 

"  Halt ! "  cried  Saracinesca  and  Casalverde,  in  the 
same  breath. 


SABACINESCA.  155 

"  In  guard ! "  shouted  the  Prince  again,  and  the  duel 
commenced. 

In  a  moment  the  difference  between  the  two  men  was 
apparent.  Del  Ferice  fenced  in  the  Neapolitan  style — 
his  arm  straight  before  him,  never  bending  from  the 
elbow,  making  all  his  play  with  his  wrist,  his  back 
straight,  and  his  knees  so  much  bent  that  he  seemed  not 
more  than  half  his  height.  He  made  his  movements 
short  and  quick,  and  relatively  few,  in  evident  fear  of 
tiring  himself  at  the  start.  To  a  casual  observer  his 
fence  was  less  graceful  than  his  antagonist's,  his  lunges 
less  daring,  his  parries  less  brilliant.  But  as  the  old 
Prince  watched  him  he  saw  that  the  point  of  his  foil 
advanced  and  retreated  in  a  perfectly  straight  line,  and 
in  parrying  described  the  smallest  circle  possible,  while 
his  cold  watery  blue  eye  was  fixed  steadily  upon  his 
antagonist ;  old  Saracinesca  ground  his  teeth,  for  he  saw 
that  the  man  was  a  most  accomplished  swordsman. 

Giovanni  fought  with  the  air  of  one  who  defended  him 
self,  without  much  thought  of  attack.  He  did  not  bend  so 
low  as  Del  Ferice,  his  arm  doubled  a  little  before  his 
, lunge,  and  his  foil  occasionally  made  a  wide  circle  in  the 
air.  He  seemed  careless,  but  in  strength  and  elasticity 
he  was  far  superior  to  his  enemy,  and  could  perhaps  af 
ford  to  trust  to  these  advantages,  when  a  man  like  Del 
Ferice  was  obliged  to  employ  his  whole  skill  and  science. 

They  had  been  fencing  for  more  than  two  minutes, 
without  any  apparent  result,  when  Giovanni  seemed  sud 
denly  to  change  his  tactics.  He  lowered  the  point  of  his 
weapon  a  little,  and,  keeping  it  straight  before  him,  began 
to  press  more  closely  upon  his  antagonist.  Del  Ferice 
kept  his  arm  at  full  length,  and  broke  ground  for  a  yard 
or  two,  making  clever  feints  in  carte  at  Giovanni's  body, 
with  the  object  of  stopping  his  advance.  But  Giovanni 
pressed  him,  and  suddenly  made  a  peculiar  movement 
with  his  foil,  bringing  it  in  contact  with  his  enemy's 
along  its  length. 

"Halt!"  cried  Casalverde.     Both  men  lowered  their 


156  SARACINESCA. 

weapons  instantly,  and  the  seconds  sprang  forward  and 
touched  their  swords  between  them.  Giovanni  bit  his 
lip  angrily. 

"  Why  <  halt '  ?  "  asked  the  Prince,  sharply.  "  Neither 
is  touched." 

"  My  principal's  shoe-string  is  untied,"  answered  Casal- 
verde,  calmly.  It  was  true.  "  He  might  easily  trip  and 
fall,"  explained  Del  Ferice's  friend,  bending  down  and 
proceeding  to  tie  the  silk  ribbon.  The  Prince  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  retired  with  Giovanni  a  few  steps  back. 

"  Giovanni,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion, 
"  if  you  are  not  more  careful,  he  will  do  you  a  mischief. 
For  heaven's  sake  run  him  through  the  arm  and  let  us 
be  done  with  it." 

"  I  should  have  disarmed  him  that  time  if  his  second 
had  not  stopped  us,"  said  Giovanni,  calmly.  "He  is 
ready  again,"  he  added,  "  come  on." 

"In  guard!" 

Again  the  two  men  advanced,  and  again  the  foils 
crossed  and  recrossed  and  rang  loudly  in  the  cold  morning 
air.  Once  more  Giovanni  pressed  upon  Del  Ferice,  and  Del 
Ferice  broke  ground.  In  answer  to  a  quick  feint,  Giovanni 
made  a  round  parry  and  a  sharp  short  lunge  in  tierce. 

"  Halt ! "  yelled  Casalverde.  Old  Saracinesca  sprang  in, 
and  Giovanni  lowered  his  weapon.  But  Casalverde  did 
not  interpose  his  sword.  A  full  two  seconds  after  the 
cry  to  halt,  Del  Ferice  lunged  right  forward.  Giovanni 
thrust  out  his  arm  to  save  his  body  from  the  foul  attempt 
— he  had  not  time  to  raise  his  weapon.  Del  Ferice's 
sharp  rapier  entered  his  wrist  and  tore  a  long  wound 
nearly  to  the  elbow. 

Giovanni  said  nothing,  but  his  sword  dropped  from  his 
hand  and  he  turned  upon  his  father,  white  with  rage. 
The  blood  streamed  down  his  sleeve,  and  his  surgeon 
came  running  towards  him. 

The  old  man  had  understood  at  a  glance  the  foul  play 
that  had  been  practised,  and  going  forward  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  arm  of  Del  Ferice's  second. 


SARACISHESCA.  157 

"  Why  did  you  stop  them,  sir  ?  And  where  was  your 
sword  ?  "  he  said  in  great  anger.  Del  Ferice  was  leaning 
upon  his  friend ;  a  greenish  pallor  had  overspread  his 
face,  but  there  was  a  smile  under  his  colourless  moustache. 

"  My  principal  was  touched,"  said  Casalverde,  pointing 
to  a  tiny  scratch  upon  Del  Ferice's  neck,  from  which  a 
single  drop  of  blood  was  slowly  oozing. 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  prevent  your  principal  from 
thrusting  after  you  cried  the  halt  ?  "  asked  Saracinesca, 
severely.  "You  have  singularly  misunderstood  your 
duties,  sir,  and  when  these  gentlemen  are  satisfied,  you 
will  be  answerable  to  me." 

Casalverde  was  silent. 

"  I  protest  myself  wholly  satisfied,"  said  Ugo,  with  a 
disagreeable  smile,  as  he  glanced  to  where  the  surgeon 
was  binding  up  Giovanni's  arm. 

"  Sir,  "  said  old  Saracinesca,  fiercely  addressing  the  sec 
ond,  "  I  am  not  here  to  bandy  words  with  your  principal. 
He  may  express  himself  satisfied  through  you,  if  he 
pleases.  My  principal,  through  me,  expresses  his  entire 
dissatisfaction." 

"  Your  principal,  Prince,"  answered  Casalverde,  coldly, 
"  is  unable  to  proceed,  seeing  that  his  right  arm  is  injured." 

"  My  son,  sir,  fences  as  readily  with  his  left  hand  as 
with  his  right,"  returned  old  Saracinesca. 

Del  Ferice's  face  fell,  and  his  smile  vanished  instantly. 

"  In  that  case  we  are  ready,"  returned  Casalverde,  un 
able,  however,  to  conceal  his  annoyance.  He  was  a  friend 
of  Del  Ferice's  and  would  gladly  have  seen  Giovanni  run 
through  the  body  by  the  foul  thrust. 

There  was  a  moment's  consultation  on  the  other  side. 

"  I  will  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  killing  that  gentle 
man  to-morrow  morning,"  remarked  Spicca,  as  he  mourn 
fully  watched  the  surgeon's  operations. 

"  Unless  I  kill  him  myself  to-day,"  returned  the  Prince 
savagely,  in  his  white  beard.  "Are  you  ready,  Giovan- 
nino  ?  "  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  ask  his  son  if  he 
was  too  badly  hurt  to  proceed. 


158  SAEACINESCA. 

Giovanni  never  spoke,  but  the  hot  blood  had  mounted 
to  his  temples,  and  he  was  dangerously  angry.  He  took 
the  foil  they  gave  him,  and  felt  the  point  quietly.  It 
was  sharp  as  a  needle.  He  nodded  to  his  father's  ques 
tion,  and  they  resumed  their  places,  the  old  Prince  this 
time  standing  on  the  left,  as  his  son  had  changed  hands. 
Del  Ferice  came  forward  rather  timidly.  His  courage 
had  sustained  him  so  far,  but  the  consciousness  of  hav 
ing  done  a  foul  deed,  and  the  sight  of  the  angry  man  be 
fore  him,  were  beginning  to  make  him  nervous.  He  felt 
uncomfortable,  too,  at  the  idea  of  fencing  against  a  left- 
handed  antagonist. 

Giovanni  made  one  or  two  lunges,  and  then,  with  a 
strange  movement  unlike  anything  any  one  present  was 
acquainted  with,  seemed  to  wind  his  blade  round  Del 
Ferice's,  and,  with  a  violent  jerk  of  the  wrist,  sent  the 
weapon  flying  across  the  open  space.  It  struck  a  window 
of  the  house,  and  crashed  through  the  panes. 

"  More  broken  glass  ! "  said  Giovanni  scornfully,  as  he 
lowered  his  point  and  stepped  back  two  paces.  "  Take 
another  sword,  sir,"  he  said;  'CI  will  not  kill  you  de 
fenceless." 

"  Good  heavens,  Giovannino  ! "  exclaimed  his  father  in 
the  greatest  excitement ;  "  where  on  earth  did  you  learn 
that  trick  ?  " 

"On  my  travels,  father,"  returned  Giovanni,  with  a 
smile ;  "  where  you  tell  me  I  learned  so  much  that  was 
bad.  He  looks  frightened,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice,  as 
he  glanced  at  Del  Ferice's  livid  face. 

"  He  has  cause,"  returned  the  Prince,  "  if  he  ever  had 
in  his  life  ! " 

Casalverde  and  his  witness  advanced  from  the  other 
side  with  a  fresh  pair  of  foils ;  for  the  one  that  had  gone 
through  the  window  could  not  be  recovered  at  once,  and 
was  probably  badly  bent  by  the  twist  it  had  received. 
The  gentlemen  offered  Giovanni  his  choice. 

"If  there  is  no  objection  I  will  keep  the  one  I  have," 
said  he  to  his  father.  The  foils  were  measured,  and 


SABACINESCA.  159 

were  found  to  be  alike.  The  two  gentlemen  retired,  and 
Del  Ferice  chose  a  weapon. 

"  That  is  right,"  said  Spicca,  as  he  slowly  went  back  to 
his  place.  "  You  should  never  part  with  an  old  friend." 

"  We  are  ready ! "  was  called  from  the  opposite  side. 

"  In  guard,  then ! "  cried  the  Prince.  The  angry  flush 
had  not  subsided  from  Giovanni's  forehead,  as  he  again 
went  forward.  Del  Ferice  came  up  like  a  man  who  has 
suddenly  made  up  his  mind  to  meet  death,  with  a  look  of 
extraordinary  determination  on  his  pale  face. 

Before  they  had  made  half-a-dozen  passes  Ugo  slipped, 
or  pretended  to  slip,  and  fell  upon  his  right  knee  ;  but  as 
he  came  to  the  ground,  he  made  a  sharp  thrust  upwards 
under  Giovanni's  extended  left  arm. 

The  old  Prince  uttered  a  fearful  oath,  that  rang  and 
echoed  along  the  walls  of  the  ancient  villa.  Del  Ferice 
had  executed  the  celebrated  feint  known  long  ago  as  the 
"  Colpo  del  Tancredi,"  "  Tancred's  lunge,"  from  the  sup 
posed  name  of  its  inventor.  It  is  now  no  longer  per 
mitted  in  duelling.  But  the  deadly  thrust  loses  half  its 
danger  against  a  left-handed  man.  The  foil  grazed  the 
flesh  on  Giovanni's  left  side,  and  the  blood  again  stained 
his  white  shirt.  In  the  moment  when  Del  Ferice  slipped, 
Giovanni  had  made  a  straight  and  deadly  lunge  at  his 
body,  and  the  sword,  instead  of  passing  through  Ugo's 
lungs,  ran  swift  and  sure  through  his  throat,  with  such 
force  that  the  iron  guard  struck  the  falling  man's  jaw 
with  tremendous  impetus,  before  the  oath  the  old  Prince 
had  uttered  was  fairly  out  of  his  mouth. 

Seconds  and  witnesses  and  surgeons  sprang  forward 
hastily.  Del  Ferice  lay  upon  his  side ;  he  had  fallen  so 
heavily  and  suddenly  as  to  wrench  the  sword  from  Gio 
vanni's  grip.  The  old  Prince  gave  one  look,  and  dragged 
his  son  away. 

"  He  is  as  dead  as  a  stone,"  he  muttered,  with  a  savage 
gleam  in  his  eyes. 

Giovanni  hastily  began  to  dress,  without  paying  any 
attention  to  the  fresh  wound  he  had  received  in  the  last 


160  SARACINESCA. 

encounter.  In  the  general  excitement,  his  surgeon  had 
joined  the  group  about  the  'fallen  man.  Before  Giovanni 
had  got  his  overcoat  on  he  came  back  with  Spicca,  who 
looked  crestfallen  and  disappointed. 

"He  is  not  dead  at  all,"  said  the  surgeon.  "You  did 
the  thing  with  a  master's  hand — you  ran  his  throat  through 
without  touching  the  jugular  artery  or  the  spine." 

"  Does  he  want  to  go  on  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  so  savagely 
that  the  three  men  stared  at  him. 

"Do  not  be  so  bloodthirsty,  Giovannino,"  said  the  old 
Prince,  reproachfully. 

"  I  should  be  justified  in  going  back  and  killing  him  as 
he  lies  there,"  said  the  younger  Saracinesca,  fiercely. 
"  He  nearly  murdered  me  twice  this  morning." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  Prince,  "  the  dastardly  brute  ! " 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Spicca,  lighting  a  cigarette,  "  I  am 
afraid  I  have  deprived  you  of  the  pleasure  of  dealing 
with  the  man  who  called  himself  Del  Ferice's  second. 
I  just  took  the  opportunity  of  having  a  moment's  private 
conversation  with  him — we  disagreed  a  little." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  growled  the  Prince  ;  "  as  you  please. 
I  daresay  I  shall  have  enough  to  do  in  taking  care  of  Gio 
vanni  to-morrow.  That  is  a  villanous  bad  scratch  on  his 
arm." 

"  Bah  !  it  is  nothing  to  mention,  save  for  the  foul  way 
it  was  given,"  said  Giovanni  between  his  teeth. 

Once  more  old  Saracinesca  and  Spicca  crossed  the 
ground.  There  was  a  word  of  formality  exchanged,  to 
the  effect  that  both  combatants  were* satisfied,  and  then 
Giovanni  and  his  party  moved  off,  Spicca  carrying  his 
green  bag  of  foils  under  his  arm,  and  puffing  clouds  of 
smoke  into  the  damp  morning  air.  They  had  been  nearly 
an  hour  on  the  ground,  and  were  chilled  with  cold,  and 
exhausted  for  want  of  sleep.  They  entered  their  car 
riage  and  drove  rapidly  homewards. 

"  Come  in  and  breakfast  with  us,"  said  the  old  Prince 
to  Spicca,  as  they  reached  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca, 

"Thank  you,  no,"  answered  the  melancholy  man.     "I 


SARACINESCA.  161 

have  much  to  do,  as  I  shall  go  to  Paris  to-morrow  morn 
ing  by  the  ten  o'clock  train.  Can  I  do  anything  for  you 
there  ?  I  shall  be  absent  some  months." 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  fight  to-morrow," 
objected  the  Prince. 

"  Exactly.  It  will  be  convenient  for  me  to  leave-  the 
country  immediately  afterwards." 

The  old  man  shuddered.  With  all  his  fierce  blood  and 
headstrong  passion,  he  could  not  comprehend  the  fearful 
calm  of  this  strange  man,  whose  skill  was  such  that  he 
regarded  his  adversary's  death  as  a  matter  of  course 
whenever  he  so  pleased.  As  for  Giovanni,  he  was  still  so 
angry  that  he  cared  little  for  the  issue  of  the  second  duel. 

"  I  am  sincerely  grateful  for  your  kind  offices,"  he  said, 
as  Spicca  took  leave  of  him. 

"  You  shall  be  amply  revenged  of  the  two  attempts  to 
murder  you,"  said  Spicca,  quietl^ ;  and  so,  having  shaken 
hands  with  all,  he  again  entered  the  carriage.  It  was  the 
last  they  saw  of  him  for  a  long  time.  He  faithfully  ful 
filled  his  programme.  He  met  Casalverde  on  the  follow 
ing  morning  at  seven  o'clock,  and  at  precisely  a  quarter 
past,  he  left  him  dead  on  the  field.  He  breakfasted  with 
his  seconds  at  half-past  eight,  and  left  Rome  with  them 
for  Paris  at  ten  o'clock.  He  had  selected  two  French 
officers  who  were  about  to  return  to  their  home,  in  order 
not  to  inconvenience  any  of  his  friends  by  obliging  them 
to  leave  the  country  ;  which  showed  that,  even  in  mo 
ments  of  great  excitement,  Count  Spicca  was  thoughtful 
of  others. 

When  the  surgeon  had  dressed  Giovanni's  wounds,  he 
left  the  father  and  son  together.  Giovanni  lay  upon  a 
couch  in  his  own  sitting-room,  eating  his  breakfast  as 
best  he  could  with  one  hand.  The  old  Prince  paced  the 
floor,  commenting  from  time  to  time  upon  the  events  of 
the  morning. 

"  It  is  just  as  well  that  you  did  not  kill  him,  Giovan- 
nino,"  he  remarked ;  "  it  would  have  been  a  nuisance  to 
have  been  obliged  to  go  away  just  now." 


162  SAKACESTESCA. 

Giovanni  did  not  answer. 

"  Of  course,  duelling  is  a  great  sin,  and  is  strictly  for 
bidden  by  our  religion,"  said  the  Prince  suddenly.  "  But 
then " 

"Precisely,"  returned  Giovanni.  "We  nevertheless 
cannot  always  help  ourselves." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  continued  his  father,  "  that  it  is, 
of  course,  very  wicked,  and  if  one  is  killed  in  a  duel,  one 
probably  goes  straight  into  hell.  But  then — it  was  worth 
something  to  see  how  you  sent  that  fellow's  foil  flying 
through  the  window  ! " 

"  It  is  a  very  simple  trick.  If  you  will  take  a  foil,  I 
will  teach  it  to  you." 

"Presently,  presently;  when  you  have  finished  your 
breakfast.  Tell  me,  why  did  you  say,  'more  broken 
glass  >  ?  " 

Giovanni  bit  his  lip,  remembering  his  imprudence. 

"  I  hardly  know.  I  believe  it  suggested  something  to 
my  mind.  One  says  all  sorts  of  foolish  things  in  mo 
ments  of  excitement." 

"It  struck  me  as  a  very  odd  remark,"  answered  the 
Prince,  still  walking  about.  "By  the  bye,"  he  added, 
pausing  before  the  writing-table,  "  here  is  that  letter  you 
wrote  for  me.  Do  you  want  me  to  read  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Giovanni,  with  a  laugh.  "  It  is  of  no  use 
now.  It  would  seem  absurd,  since  I  am  alive  and  well. 
It  was  only  a  word  of  farewell." 

The  Prince  laughed  too,  and  threw  the  sealed  letter 
into  the  fire. 

"  The  last  of  the  Saracinesca  is  not  dead  yet,"  he  said. 
"  Giovanni,  what  are  we  to  say  to  the  gossips  ?  All  Rome 
will  be  ringing  with  this  affair  before  night.  Of  course,  you 
must  stay  at  home  for  a  few  days,  or  you  will  catch  cold  in 
your  arm.  I  will  go  out  and  carry  the  news  of  our  victory." 

"  Better  to  say  nothing  about  it — better  to  refer  people 
to  Del  Eerice,  and  tell  them  he  challenged  me.  Come 
in ! "  cried  Giovanni,  in  answer  to  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Pasquale,  the  old  butler,  entered  the  room. 


SARACINESCA.  163 

"  The  Duca  d' Astrardente  has  sent  to  inquire  after  the 
health  of  his  Excellency  Don  Giovanni,"  said  the  old 
man,  respectfully. 

The  elder  Saracinesca  paused  in  his  walk,  and  broke 
out  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Already !  You  see,  Giovannino,"  he  said.  "  Tell  him, 
Pasquale,  that  Don  Giovanni  caught  a  severe  cold  at  the 
ball  last  night — or  no — wait !  What  shall  we  say,  Gio- 
vannino  ?  " 

"Tell  the  servant,"  said  Giovanni,  sternly,  "that  I 
am  much  obliged  for  the  kind  inquiry,  that  I  am  perfectly 
well,  and  that  you  have  just  seen  me  eating  my  breakfast." 

Pasquale  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

"I  suppose  you  do  not  want  her  to  know "  said 

the  Prince,  who  had  suddenly  recovered  his  gravity. 

Giovanni  bowed  his  head  silently. 

" Quite  right,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  gravely.  "I 
do  not  want  to  know  anything  about  it  either.  How  the 
devil  could  they  have  found  out  ?  " 

The  question  was  addressed  more  to  himself  than  to  his 
son,  and  the  latter  volunteered  no  answer.  He  was  grate 
ful  to  his  father  for  his  considerate  silence. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

When  Astrardente  saw  the  elder  Saracinesca's  face 
during  his  short  interview  with  the  diplomatist,  his  curi 
osity  was  immediately  aroused.  He  perceived  that  there 
was  something  the  matter,  and  he  proceeded  to  try  and 
ascertain  the  circumstances  from  his  acquaintance.  The 
ambassador  returned  to  his  pdte  and  his  champagne  with 
an  air  of  amused  interest,  but  vouchsafed  no  information 
whatever. 

"What  a  singularly  amusing  fellow  old  Saracinesca  is ! " 
remarked  Astrardente. 


164  SARACINESCA. 

"  When  he  likes  to  be,'7  returned  his  Excellency,  with 
his  mouth  full. 

"  On  the  contrary — when  he  least  meditates  it.  I  never 
knew  a  man  better  suited  for  a  successful  caricature. 
Indeed  he  is  not  a  bad  caricature  of  his  own  son,  or  his 
own  son  of  him — I  am  not  sure  which." 

The  ambassador  laughed  a  little  and  took  a  large 
mouthful. 

"  Ha !  ha  !  very  good,"  he  mumbled  as  he  ate.  "  He 
would  appreciate  that.  He  loves  his  own  race.  He 
would  rather  feel  that  he  is  a  comic  misrepresentation  of 
the  most  hideous  Saracinesca  who  ever  lived,  than  possess 
all  the  beauty  of  the  Astrardente  and  be  called  by  another 
name." 

The  diplomatist  paused  for  a  secondr  after  this  speech, 
and  then  bowed  a  little  to  the  Duchessa ;  but  the  hit  had 
touched  her  husband  in  a  sensitive  spot.  The  old  dandy 
had  been  handsome  once,  in  a  certain  way,  and  he  did 
his  best,  by  artificial  means,  to  preserve  some  trace  of  his 
good  looks.  The  Duchessa  smiled  faintly. 

"  I  would  wager,"  said  Astrardente,  sourly,  "  that  his 
excited  manner  just  now  was  due  to  one  of  two  things — 
either  his  vanity  or  his  money  is  in  danger.  As  for  the 
way  he  yelled  after  Spicca,  it  looked  as  though  there  were 
a  duel  in  the  air — fancy  the  old  fellow  fighting  a  duel! 
Too  ridiculous ! " 

"  A  duel ! "  repeated  Corona  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  do  not  see  anything  so  very  ridiculous  in  it,"  said 
the  diplomatist,  slowly  twisting  his  glass  of  champagne 
in  his  fingers,  and  then  sipping  it.  "Besides,"  he  added 
deliberately,  glancing  at  the  Duchessa  from  the  corner  of 
his  eyes,  "  he  has  a  son." 

Corona  started  very  slightly. 

"  Why  should  there  be  a  duel  ?  "  she  asked. 

"It  was  your  husband  who  suggested  the  idea,"  returned 
the  diplomatist. 

"  But  you  said  there  was  nothing  ridiculous  in  it,"  ob 
jected  the  Duchessa. 


SAKACINESCA.  165 

"  But  I  did  not  say  there  was  any  truth  in  it,  either," 
answered  his  Excellency  with  a  reassuring  smile.  "  What 
made  you  think  of  duelling  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  Astrar- 
dente. 

"  Spicca,"  said  the  latter.  "  Wherever  Spicca  is  con 
cerned  there  is  a  duel.  He  is  a  terrible  fellow,  with  his 
death's-head  and  dangling  bones — one  of  those  extraor 
dinary  phenomena — bah  !  it  makes  one  shiver  to  think  of 
him  !  "  The  old  fellow  made  the  sign  of  the  horns  with 
his  forefinger  and  little  finger,  hiding  his  thumb  in  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  as  though  to  protect  himself  against 
the  evil  eye — the  sinister  influence  invoked  by  the  men 
tion  of  Spicca.  Old  Astrardente  was  very  superstitious. 
The  ambassador  laughed,  and  even  Corona  smiled  a  little. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  diplomatist,  "  Spicca  is  a  living  me 
mento  mori;  he  occasionally  reminds  men  of  death  by 
killing  them." 

"  How  horrible  !  "  exclaimed  Corona. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  lady,  the  world  is  full  of  horrible  things." 

"  That  is  not  a  reason  for  making  jests  of  them." 

"It  is  better  to  make  light  of  the  inevitable,"  said 
Astrardente.  "  Are  you  ready  to  go  home,  my  dear  ?  " 

"Quite — I  was  only  waiting  for  you,"  answered  Corona, 
who  longed  to  be  at  home  and  alone. 

"  Let  me  know  the  result  of  old  Saracinesca's  warlike 
undertakings,"  said  Astrardente,  with  a  cunning  smile 
on  his  painted  face.  "  Of  course,  as  he  consulted  you,  he 
will  send  you  word  in  the  morning." 

"  You  seem  so  anxious  that  there  should  be  a  duel,  that 
I  should  almost  be  tempted  to  invent  an  account  of  one, 
lest  you  should  be  too  grievously  disappointed,"  returned 
the  diplomatist. 

"  You  know  very  well  that  no  invention  will  be  neces 
sary,"  said  the  Duca,  pressing  him,  for  his  curiosity  was 
roused. 

"Well — as  you  please  to  consider  it.  Good  night," 
replied  the  ambassador.  It  had  amused  him  to  annoy 

Astrardente  a  little,  and  he  left  him  with  the  pleasant 
Vol.  10—8 


166  SARACINESCA. 

consciousness  of  having  excited  the  inquisitive  faculty  of 
his  friend  to  its  highest  pitch,  without  giving  it  anything 
to  feed  upon. 

Men  who  have  to  do  with  men,  rather  than  with  things, 
frequently  take  a  profound  and  seemingly  cruel  delight 
in  playing  upon  the  feelings  and  petty  vanities  of  their 
fellow-creatures.  The  habit  is  as  strong  with  them  as 
the  constant  practice  of  conjuring  becomes  with  a  jug 
gler  ;  even  when  he  is  not  performing,  he  will  for  hours 
pass  coins,  perform  little  tricks  of  sleight-of-hand  with 
cards,  or  toss  balls  in  the  air  in  marvellously  rapid  suc 
cession,  unable  to  lay  aside  his  profession  even  for  a  day, 
because  it  has  grown  to  be  the  only  natural  expression  of 
his  faculties.  With  men  whose  business  it  is  to  under 
stand  other  men,  it  is  the  same.  They  cannot  be  in  a 
man's  company  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  without  attempt 
ing  to  discover  the  peculiar  weaknesses  of  his  character 
— his  vanities,  his  tastes,  his  vices,  his  curiosity,  his  love 
of  money  or  of  reputation ;  so  that  the  operation  of  such 
men's  minds  may  be  compared  to  the  process  of  auscul 
tation — for  their  ears  are  always  upon  their  neighbours' 
hearts — and  their  conversation  to  the  percutations  of  a 
physician  to  ascertain  the  seat  of  disease  in  a  pair  of 
consumptive  lungs. 

But,  with  all  his  failings,  Astrardente  was  a  man  of 
considerable  acuteness  of  moral  vision.  He  had  made  a 
shrewd  guess  at  Saracinesca's  business,  and  had  further 
gathered  from  a  remark  dropped  by  his  diplomatic  friend, 
that  if  there  was  to  be  a  duel  at  all,  it  would  be  fought 
by  Giovanni.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  ambassador  him 
self  knew  nothing  certainly  concerning  the  matter,  or  it 
is  possible  that,  for  the  sake  of  observing  the  effect  of 
the  news  upon  the  Duchessa,  he  would  have  told  the  whole 
truth ;  for  he  had  of  course  heard  the  current  gossip  con 
cerning  Giovanni's  passion  for  her,  and  the  experiment 
would  have  been  too  attractive  and  interesting  to  be 
missed.  As  it  was,  she  had  started  at  the  mention  of 
Saracinesca's  son.  The  diplomatist  only  did  what  every 


SABACINESCA.  167 

one  else  who  came  near  Corona  attempted  to  do  at  that 
time,  in  endeavouring  to  ascertain  whether  she  herself 
entertained  any  feeling  for  the  man  whom  the  gossips 
had  set  down  as  her  most  devoted  admirer. 

Poor  Duchessa !  It  was  no  wonder  that  she  had 
started  at  the  idea  that  Giovanni  was  in  trouble.  He  had 
played  a  great  part  in  her  life  that  day,  and  she  could 
not  forget  him.  She  had  hardly  as  yet  had  time  to  think 
of  what  she  felt,  for  it  was  only  by  a  supreme  effort  that 
she  had  been  able  to  bear  the  great  strain  upon  her 
strength.  If  she  had  not  loved  him,  it  would  have  been 
different ;  and  in  the  strange  medley  of  emotions  through 
which  she  was  passing,  she  wished  that  she  might  never 
have  loved — that,  loving,  she  might  be  allowed  wholly 
to'  forget  her  love,  and  to  return  by  some  sudden  miracle 
to  that  cold  dreamy  state  of  indifference  to  all  other  men, 
and  of  unfailing  thoughtfulness  for  her  husband,  from 
which  she  had  been  so  cruelly  awakened.  She  would 
have  given  anything  to  have  not  loved,  now  that  the 
great  struggle  was  over ;  but  until  the  supreme  moment 
had  come,  she  had  not  been  willing  to  put  the  dangerous 
thought  from  her,  saving  in  those  hours  of  prayer  and 
solitary  suffering,  when  the  whole  truth  rose  up  clearly 
before  her  in  its  undisguised  nakedness.  So  soon  as  she 
had  gone  into  the  world,  she  had  recklessly  longed  for 
Giovanni  Saracinesca's  presence. 

But  now  it  was  all  changed.  She  had  not  deceived 
herself  when  she  had  told  him  that  she  would  rather  not 
see  him  any  more.  It  was  true ;  not  only  did  she  wish 
not  to  see  him,  but  she  earnestly  desired  that  the  love  of 
him  might  pass  from  her  heart.  With  a  sudden  longing, 
her  thoughts  went  back  to  the  old  convent-life  of  her 
girlhood,  with  its  regular  occupations,  its  constant  re 
ligious  exercises,  its  narrowness  of  view,  and  its  unchang 
ing  simplicity.  What  mattered  narrowness,  when  all 
beyond  that  close  limitation  was  filled  with  evil  ?  Was 
it  not  better  that  the  lips  should  be  busy  with  singing 
litanies  than  that  the  heart  should  be  tormented  by 


168  SAEACINESCA. 

temptation?  Were  not  those  simple  tasks,  that  had 
seemed  so  all-important  then,  more  sweet  in  the  perform 
ance  than  the  manifold  duties  of  this  complicated  social 
existence,  this  vast  web  and  woof  of  life's  loom,  this 
great  machinery  that  worked  and  groaned  and  rolled  end 
lessly  upon  its  wheels  without  producing  any  more  result 
than  the  ceaseless  turning  of  a  prison  treadmill  ?  But 
there  was  no  way  out  of  life  now ;  there  was  no  escape, 
as  there  was  also  no  prospect  of  relief,  from  care  and 
anxiety.  There  was  no  reason  why  Giovanni  should  go 
away — no  reason  either  why  Corona  should  ever  love 
him  less.  She  belonged  to  a  class  of  women,  if  there  are 
enough  of  them  to  be  called  a  class,  who,  where  love  is 
concerned,  can  feel  but  one  impression,  which  becomes  in 
their  hearts  the  distinctive  seal  and  mark  of  their  lives, 
for  good  or  for  evil.  Corona  was  indeed  so  loyal  and 
good  a  woman,  that  the  strong  pressure  of  her  love  could 
not  abase  her  nobility,  nor  put  untruth  where  all  was  so 
true ;  but  the  sign  of  her  love  for  Giovanni  was  upon 
her  for  ever.  The  vacant  place  in  her  heart  had  been 
filled,  and  filled  wholly  ;  the  bulwark  she  had  reared 
against  the  love  of  man  was  broken  down  and  swept 
away,  and  the  waters  flowed  softly  over  its  place  and 
remembered  it  not.  She  would  never  be  the  same  woman 
again,  and  it  was  bitter  to  her  to  feel  it :  for  ever  the 
face  of  Giovanni  would  haunt  her  waking  hours  and 
visit  her  dreams  unbidden, — a  perpetual  reproach  to  her, 
a  perpetual  memory  of  the  most  desperate  struggle  of 
her  life,  and  more  than  a  memory — the  undying  present 
of  an  unchanging  love. 

She  was  quite  sure  of  herself  in  future,  as  she  also 
trusted  sincerely  in  Giovanni's  promise.  There  should  be 
no  moment  of  weakness,  no  word  should  ever  fall  from  her 
lips  to  tempt  him  to  a  fresh  outbreak  of  passionate  words 
and  acts ;  her  life  should  be  measured  in  the  future  by  the 
account  of  the  dangers  past,  and  there  should  be  no  instant 
of  unguarded  conduct,  no  hour  wherein  even  to  herself 
she  would  say  it  was  sweet  to  love  and  to  be  loved.  It 


SAKACINESCA.  169 

was  indeed  not  sweet,  but  bitter  as  death  itself,  to  feel 
that  weight  at  her  heart,  that  constant  toiling  effort  in 
her  mind  to  keep  down  the  passion  in  her  breast.  But 
Corona  had  sacrificed  much ;  she  would  sacrifice  this  also ; 
she  would  get  strength  by  her  prayers  and  courage  from 
her  high  pride,  and  she  would  smile  to  all  the  world  as 
she  had  never  smiled  before.  She  could  trust  herself,  for 
she  was  doing  the  right  and  trampling  upon  the  wrong. 
But  the  suffering  would  be  none  the  less  for  all  her  pride ; 
there  was  no  concealing  it — it  would  be  horrible.  To 
meet  him  daily  in  the  world,  to  speak  to  him  and  to  hear 
his  voice,  perhaps  to  touch  his  hand,  and  all  the  while  to 
smile  coldly,  and  to  be  still  and  for  ever  above  suspicion, 
while  her  own  burning  consciousness  accused  her  of  the 
past,  and  seemed  to  make  the  dangers  of  mere  living  yawn 
beside  her  path  at  every  step, — all  this  would  be  terrible 
to  bear,  but  by  God's  help  she  would  bear  it  to  the  end. 

But  now  a  new  horror  seized  her,  and  terrified  her 
beyond  measure.  This  rumour  of  a  duel — a  mere  word 
dropped  carelessly  in  conversation  by  a  thoughtless  ac 
quaintance — called  up  to  her  sudden  visions  of  evil  to 
come.  Surely,  howsoever  she  might  struggle  against  love 
and  beat  it  roughly  to  silence  in  her  breast,  it  was  not 
wrong  to  fear  danger  for  Giovanni, — it  could  not  be  a  sin 
to  dread  the  issue  of  peril  when  it  was  all  so  very  near  to 
her.  It  might  perhaps  not  be  true,  for  people  in  the  world 
are  willing  to  amuse  their  empty  minds  with  empty  tales, 
acknowledging  the  emptiness.  It  could  not  be  true ;  she 
had  seen  Giovanni  but  a  moment  before — he  would  have 
given  some  hint,  some  sign. 

Why — after  all  ?  Was  it  not  the  boast  of  such  men 
that  they  could  face  the  world  and  wear  an  indifferent 
look,  at  times  of  the  greatest  anxiety  and  danger  ?  But, 
again,  if  Giovanni  had  been  involved  in  a  quarrel  so 
serious  as  to  require  the  arbitrament  of  blood,  some 
rumour  of  it  would  have  reached  her.  She  had  talked 
with  many  men  that  night,  and  with  some  women — 
gossips  all,  whose  tongues  wagged  merrily  over  the  troubles 


170  SARACINESCA. 

of  friend  or  foe,  and  who  would  have  battened  upon  any 
thing  so  novel  as  a  society  duel,  as  a  herd  of  jackals  upon 
the  dead  body  of  one  of  their  fellows,  to  make  their  feast 
off  it  with  a  light  heart.  Some  one  of  all  these  would 
have  told  her;  the  quarrel  would  have  been  common 
property  in  half  an  hour,  for  somebody  must  have  wit 
nessed  it. 

It  was  a  consolation  to  Corona  to  reflect  upon  the 
extreme  improbability  of  the  story ;  for  when  the  diplo 
matist  was  gone,  her  husband  dwelt  upon  it — whether 
because  he  could  not  conceal  his  unsatisfied  curiosity,  or 
from  other  motives,  it  was  hard  to  tell. 

Astrardente  led  his  wife  from  the  supper-table  through 
the  great  rooms,  now  almost  deserted,  and  past  the  wide 
doors  of  the  hall  where  the  cotillon  was  at  its  height. 
They  paused  a  moment  and  looked  in,  as  Giovanni  had 
done  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier.  It  was  a  magnificent 
scene;  the  lights  flashed  back  from  the  jewels  of  fair 
women,  and  surged  in  the  dance  as  starlight  upon  rippling 
waves.  The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odour  of  the  countless 
flowers  that  filled  the  deep  recesses  of  the  windows,  and 
were  distributed  in  hundreds  of  nosegays  for  the  figures 
of  the  cotillon ;  enchanting  strains  of  waltz  music  seemed 
to  float  down  from  above  and  inspire  the  crowd  of  men  and 
women  with  harmonious  motion,  so  that  sound  was  made 
visible  by  translation  into  graceful  movement.  As  Corona 
looked  there  was  a  pause,  and  the  crowd  parted,  while  a 
huge  tiger,  the  heraldic  beast  of  the  Frangipani  family, 
was  drawn  into  the  hall  by  the  young  prince  and  Bianca 
Valdarno.  The  magnificent  skin  had  been  so  artfully 
stuffed  as  to  convey  a  startling  impression  of  life,  and  in 
the  creature's  huge  jaws  hung  a  great  basket  filled  with 
tiny  tigers,  which  were  to  be  distributed  as  badges  for  the 
dance  by  the  leaders.  A  wild  burst  of  applause  greeted 
this  novel  figure,  and  every  one  ran  forward  to  obtain  a 
nearer  view. 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  old  Astrardente,  "  I  envy  them  that 
invention,  my  dear  j  it  is  perfectly  magnificent.  You  must 


SABACINESCA.  171 

have  a  tiger  to  take  home.  How  fortunate  we  were  to  be 
in  time  ! "  He  forced  his  way  into  the  crowd,  leaving  his 
wife  alone  for  a  moment  by  the  door ;  and  he  managed  to 
catch  Valdarno,  who  was  distributing  the  little  emblems  to 
right  and  left.  Madame  Mayer's  quick  eyes  had  caught 
sight  of  Corona  and  her  husband,  and  from  some  instinct 
of  curiosity  she  made  towards  the  Duchessa.  She  was 
still  angry,  as  she  had  never  been  in  her  short  life,  at 
Giovanni's  rudeness  in  forgetting  her  dance,  and  she  longed 
to  inflict  some  wound  upon  the  beautiful  woman  who  had 
led  him  into  such  forgetfulness.  When  Astrardente  left 
his  wife's  side,  Donna  Tullia  pressed  forward  with  her 
partner  in  the  general  confusion  that  followed  upon  the 
entrance  of  the  tiger,  and  she  managed  to  pass  close  to 
Corona.  She  looked  up  suddenly  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"  What !  not  dancing,  Duchessa  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Has 
your  partner  gone  home  ?  " 

With  the  look  that  accompanied  the  question,  it  was 
an  insulting  speech  enough.  Had  Donna  Tullia  seen  old 
Astrardente  close  behind  her,  she  would  not  have  made  it. 
The  old  dandy  was  returning  in  triumph  in  possession  of 
the  little  tiger-badge  for  Corona.  He  heard  the  words, 
and  observed  with  inward  pleasure  his  wife's  calm  look  of 
indifference. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  placing  himself  suddenly  in  Madame 
Mayer's  way,  "  my  wife's  partners  do  not  go  home  while 
she  remains." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  returned  Donna  Tullia,  flushing  quickly ; 
"  the  Duchessa  is  dancing  the  cotillon  with  you.  I  beg 
your  pardon — I  had  forgotten  that  you  still  danced." 

"  Indeed  it  is  long  since  I  did  myself  the  honour  of 
asking  you  for  a  quadrille,  madam,"  answered  Astrardente 
with  a  polite  smile ;  and  so  saying,  he  turned  and  pre 
sented  the  little  tiger  to  his  wife  with  a  courtly  bow. 
There  was  good  blood  in  the  old  rou6. 

Corona  was  touched  by  his  thoughtfulness  in  wishing 
to  get  her  the  little  keepsake  of  the  dance,  and  she  was 
still  more  affected  by  his  ready  defence  of  her.  He  was 


172  SARACINESCA. 

indeed  sometimes  a  little  ridiculous,  with  his  paint  and 
his  artificial  smile — he  was  often  petulant  and  unreason 
able  in  little  things ;  but  he  was  never  unkind  to  her,  nor 
discourteous.  In  spite  of  her  cold  and  indifferent  stare 
at  Donna  Tullia,  she  had  keenly  felt  the  insult,  and  she 
was  grateful  to  the  old  man  for  taking  her  part.  Know 
ing  what  she  knew  of  herself  that  night,  she  was  deeply 
sensible  to  his  kindness.  She  took  the  little  gift,  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  as  they  moved  away,  "  if  I  am 
ever  ungrateful  to  you.  You  are  so  very  good  to  me.  I 
know  no  one  so  courteous  and  kind  as  you  are." 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  in  delight.  He  loved  her 
sincerely  with  all  that  remained  of  him.  There  was  some 
thing  sad  in  the  thought  of  a  man  like  him  rinding  the 
only  real  passion  of  his  life  when  worn  out  with  age  and 
dissipation.  Her  little  speech  raised  him  to  the  seventh 
heaven  of  joy. 

"  I  am  the  happiest  man  in  all  Kome,"  he  said,  assum 
ing  his  most  jaunty  walk,  and  swinging  his  hat  gaily 
between  his  thumb  and  finger.  But  a  current  of  deep 
thought  was  stirring  in  him  as  he  went  down  the  broad 
staircase  by  his  wife's  side.  He  was  thinking  what  life 
might  have  been  to  him  had  he  found  Corona  del  Carmine 
— how  could  he  ?  she  was  not  born  then — had  he  found 
her,  or  her  counterpart,  thirty  years  ago.  He  was  won 
dering  what  conceivable  sacrifice  there  could  be  which  he 
would  not  make  to  regain  his  youth — even  to  have  his 
life  lived  out  and  behind  him,  if  he  could  only  have  looked 
back  to  thirty  years  of  marriage  with  Corona.  How  dif 
ferently  he  would  have  lived,  how  very  differently  he 
would  have  thought !  how  his  whole  memory  would  be 
full  of  the  sweet  past,  and  would  be  common  with  her 
own  past  life,  which,  to  her  too,  would  be  sweet  to  ponder 
on !  He  would  have  been  such  a  good  man — so  true  to  her 
in  all  those  years  !  But  they  were  gone,  and  he  had  not 
found  her  until  his  foot  was  on  the  edge  of  the  grave — 
until  he  could  hardly  count  on  one  year  more  of  a  pitiful 


S  AK  ACINESC  A.  173 

artificial  life,  painted,  bewigged,  stuffed  to  the  semblance 
of  a  man  by  a  clever  tailor — and  she  in  the  bloom  of  her 
glory  beside  him  !  What  he  would  have  given  to  have 
old  Saracinesca's  strength  and  fresh  vitality — old  Sara- 
cinesca  whom  he  hated  !  Yes,  with  all  that  hair — it  was 
white,  but  a  little  dye  would  change  it.  What  was  a 
little  dye  compared  with  the  profound  artificiality  of 
his  own  outer  man  ?  How  the  old  fellow's  deep  voice 
rang,  loud  and  clear,  from  his  broad  chest !  How  strong 
he  was,  with  his  firm  step,  and  his  broad  brown  hands, 
and  his  fiery  black  eyes !  He  hated  him  for  the  green- 
ness  of  his  age — he  hated  him  for  his  stalwart  son,  an 
other  of  those  long-lived  fierce  Saracinesca,  who  seemed 
destined  to  outlive  time.  He  himself  had  no  children,  no 
relations,  no  one  to  bear  his  name — he  had  only  a  beau 
tiful  young  wife  and  much  wealth,  with  just  enough 
strength  left  to  affect  a  gay  walk  when  he  was  with  her, 
and  to  totter  unsteadily  to  his  couch  when  he  was  alone, 
worn  out  with  the  effort  of  trying  to  seem  young. 

As  they  sat  in  their  carriage  he  thought  bitterly  of  all 
these  things,  and  never  spoke.  Corona  herself  was  weary, 
and  glad  to  be  silent.  They  went  up-stairs,  and  as  she 
took  his  arm,  she  gently  tried  to  help  him  rather  than  be 
helped.  He  noticed  it,  and  made  an  effort,  but  he  was 
very  tired.  He  paused  upon  the  landing,  and  looked  at 
her,  and  a  gentle  and  sad  smile  stole  over  his  face,  such 
as  Corona  had  never  seen  there. 

"  Shall  we  go  into  your  boudoir  for  ten  minutes,  my 
love  ?  "  he  said  j  "  or  will  you  come  into  my  smoking- 
room?  I  would  like  to  smoke  a  little  before  going  to 
bed." 

"You  may  smoke  in  my  boudoir,  of  course,"  she  an 
swered  kindly,  though  she  was  surprised  at  the  request. 
It  was  half-past  three  o'clock.  They  went  into  the  softly 
lighted  little  room,  where  the  embers  of  the  fire  were  still 
glowing  upon  the  hearth.  Corona  dropped  her  furs  upon 
a  chair,  and  sat  down  upon  one  side  of  the  chimneypiece. 
Astrardente  sank  wearily  into  a  deep  easy-chair  opposite 


174  SAKACINBSCA. 

her,  and  having  found  a  cigarette,  lighted  it,  and  began 
to  smoke.  He  seemed  in  a  mood  which  Corona  had  never 
seen.  After  a  short  silence  he  spoke. 

"  Corona,"  he  said,  "  I  love  you."  His  wife  looked  up 
with  a  gentle  smile,  and  in  her  determination  to  be  loyal 
to  him  she  almost  forgot  that  other  man  who  had  said 
those  words  but  two  hours  before,  so  differently. 

4t  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "you  have  heard  it  before 
— it  is  not  new  to  you.  I  think  you  believe  it.  You  are 
good,  but  you  do  not  love  me — no,  do  not  interrupt  me, 
my  dear ;  I  know  what  you  would  say.  How  should  you 
love  me  ?  I  am  an  old  man — very  old,  older  than  my 
years."  Again  he  sighed,  more  bitterly,  as  he  confessed 
what  he  had  never  owned  before.  The  Duchessa  was  too 
much  astonished  to  answer  him. 

"  Corona,"  he  said  again,  "  I  shall  not  live  much  longer." 

"  Ah,  do  not  speak  like  that,"  she  cried  suddenly.  "  I 
trust  and  pray  that  you  have  yet  many  years  to  live." 
Her  husband  looked  keenly  at  her. 

"  You  are  so  good,"  he  answered,  "  that  you  are  really 
capable  of  uttering  such  a  prayer,  absurd  as  it  would 
seem." 

"  Why  absurd  ?     It  is  unkind  of  you  to  say  it " 

"  No,  my  dear ;  I  know  the  world  very  well.  That  is 
all.  I  suppose  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  make  you 
understand  how  I  love  you.  It  must  seem  incredible  to 
you,  in  the  magnificence  of  your  strength  and  beautiful 
youth,  that  a  man  like  me — an  artificial  man" — he 
laughed  scornfully — "a  creature  of  paint  and  dye — let 
me  be  honest — a  creature  with  a  wig,  should  be  capable 
of  a  mad  passion.  And  yet,  Corona,"  he  added,  his  thin 
cracked  voice  trembling  with  a  real  emotion,  "  I  do  love 
you — very  dearly.  There  are  two  things  that  make  my 
life  bitter :  the  regret  that  I  did  not  meet  you,  that  you 
were  not  born,  when  I  was  young ;  and  worse  than  that, 
the  knowledge  that  I  must  leave  you  very  soon — I,  the 
exhausted  dandy,  the  shadow  of  what  I  was,  tottering  to 
my  grave  in  a  last  vain  effort  to  be  young  for  your  sake 


SABACINESCA.  175 

— for  your  sake,  Corona  dear.  Ah,  it  is  contemptible ! " 
he  almost  moaned. 

Corona  hid  her  eyes  in  her  hand.  She  was  taken  off 
her  guard  by  his  strange  speech. 

"  Oh,  do  not  speak  like  that — do  not ! "  she  cried. 
"  You  make  me  very  unhappy.  Do  I  reproach  you  ?  Do 
I  ever  make  you  feel  that  you  are — older-  than  I  ?  I 
will  lead  a  new  life ;  you  shall  never  think  of  it  again. 
You  are  too  kind — too  good  for  me." 

"  No  one  ever  said  I  was  too  good  before,"  replied  the 
old  man  with  a  shade  of  sadness.  "  I  am  glad  the  one 
person  who  finds  me  good,  should  be  the  only  one  for 
whose  sake  I  ever  cultivated  goodness.  I  could  have 
been  different,  Corona,  if  I  had  had  you  for  my  wife  for 
thirty  years,  instead  of  five.  But  it  is  too  late  now. 
Before  long  I  shall  be  dead,  and  you  will  be  free." 

"  What  makes  you  say  such  things  to  me  ? "  asked 
Corona.  "  Can  you  think  I  am  so  vile,  so  ungrateful,  so 
unloving,  as  to  wish  your  death  ?  " 

"Not  unloving;  no,  my  dear  child.  But  not  loving, 
either.  I  do  not  ask  impossibilities.  You  will  mourn 
for  me  a  while — my  poor  soul  will  rest  in  peace  if  you 
feel  one  moment  of  real  regret  for  me,  for  your  old  hus 
band,  before  you  take  another.  Do  not  cry,  Corona, 
dearest ;  it  is  the  way  of  the  world.  We  waste  our  youth 
in  scoffing  at  reality,  and  in  the  unrealness  of  our  old 
age  the  present  no  longer  avails  us  much.  You  know 
me,  perhaps  you  despise  me.  You  would  not  have 
scorned  me  when  I  was  young — oh,  how  young  I  was ! 
how  strong  and  vain  of  my  youth,  thirty  years  ago ! " 

"Indeed,  indeed,  no  such  thought  ever  crossed  my 
mind.  I  give  you  all  I  have,"  cried  Corona,  in  great 
distress  ;  "  I  will  give  you  more — I  will  devote  my  whole 
life  to  you " 

"  You  do,  my  dear.  I  am  sensible  of  it,"  said  Astrar- 
dente,  quietly.  "  You  cannot  do  more,  if  you  will ;  you 
cannot  make  me  young  again,  nor  take  away  the  bitter 
ness  of  death — of  a  death  that  leaves  you  behind." 


176  SABACINESCA. 

Corona  leaned  forward,  staring  into  the  dying  embers 
of  the  fire,  one  hand  supporting  her  chin.  The  tears 
stood  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  cheeks.  The  old  dandy  in 
his  genuine  misery  had  excited  her  compassion. 

"  I  would  mourn  you  long,"  she  said.  "  You  may  have 
wasted  your  life  ;  you  say  so.  I  would  love  you  more  if 
I  could,  God  knows.  You  have  always  been  to  me  a 
courteous  gentleman  and  a  faithful  husband." 

The  old  man  rose  with  difficulty  from  his  deep  chair, 
and  came  and  stood  by  her,  and  took  the  hand  that  lay  idle 
on  her  knees.  She  looked  up  at  him. 

"  If  I  thought  my  blessing  were  worth  anything,  I  would 
bless  you  for  what  you  say.  But  I  would  not  have  you 
waste  your  youth.  Youth  is  that  which,  being  wasted, 
is  like  water  poured  out  upon  the  ground.  You  must 
marry  again,  and  marry  soon — do  not  start.  You  will 
inherit  all  my  fortune  ;  you  will  have  my  title.  It  must 
descend  to  your  children.  It  has  come  to  an  unworthy 
end  in  me  ;  it  must  be  revived  in  you." 

"  How  can  you  think  of  it  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  "  asked 
Corona  kindly,  pressing  gently  his  thin  hand  in  hers. 
"  Why  do  you  dwell  on  the  idea  of  death  to-night  ?  " 

"I  am  ill;  yes,  past  all  cure,  my  dear,"  said  the  old 
man,  gently  raising  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  kissing  it. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Corona,  suddenly  rising 
to  her  feet  and  laying  her  hand  affectionately  upon  his 
shoulder.  "  Why  have  you  never  told  me  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  tell  you — except  that  it  is  near,  and 
you  must  be  prepared  ?  Why  should  I  burden  you  with 
anxiety  ?  But  you  were  so  gentle  and  kind  to-night,  upon 
the  stairs,"  he  said,  with  some  hesitation,  "  that  I  thought 
perhaps  it  would  be  a  relief  to  you  to  know — to  know  that 
it  is  not  for  long." 

There  was  something  so  gentle  in  his  tone,  so  infinitely 
pathetic  in  his  thought  that  possibly  he  might  lighten  the 
burden  his  wife  bore  so  bravely,  there  was  something  at 
last  so  human  in  the  loving  regret  with  which  he  spoke, 
that  Corona  forgot  all  his  foolish  ways,  his  wig  and  his 


SARACINESCA.  177 

false  teeth  and  his  petty  vanities,  and  letting  her  head  fall 
upon  his  shoulder,  burst  into  passionate  tears. 

"  Oh  no,  no  ! "  she  sobbed.  "  It  must  be  a  long  time 
yet ;  you  must  not  die  ! " 

"  It  may  be  a  year,  not  more,"  he  said  gently.  "  God 
bless  you  for  those  tears,  Corona — the  tears  you  have  shed 
for  me.  Good  night,  my  dearest." 

He  let  her  sink  upon  her  chair,  and  his  hand  rested 
for  one  moment  upon  her  raven  hair.  Then  with  a  last 
remnant  of  energy  he  quickly  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Such  affairs  as  the  encounter  between  Giovanni  and  Del 
Ferice  were  very  rare  in  Rome.  There  were  many  duels 
fought ;  but,  as  a  general  rule,  they  were  not  very  serious, 
and  the  first  slight  wound  decided  the  matter  in  hand  to 
the  satisfaction  of  both  parties.  But  here  there  had  been 
a  fight  for  life  and  death.  One  of  the  combatants  had 
received  two  such  wounds  as  would  have  been  sufficient  to 
terminate  an  ordinary  meeting,  and  the  other  was  lying 
at  death's  door  stabbed  through  the  throat.  Society  was 
frantic  with  excitement.  Giovanni  was  visited  by  scores 
of  acquaintances,  whom  he  allowed  to  be  admitted,  and  he 
talked  with  them  cheerfully,  in  order  to  have  it  thoroughly 
known  that  he  was  not  badly  hurt.  Del  Ferice's  lodging 
was  besieged  by  the  same  young  gentlemen  of  leisure,  who 
went  directly  from  one  to  the  other,  anxious  to  get  all  the 
news  in  their  power.  But  Del  Ferice's  door  was  guarded 
jealously  from  intruders  by  his  faithful  Neapolitan  ser 
vant — a  fellow  who  knew  more  about  his  master  than  all 
the  rest  of  Rome  together,  but  who  had  such  a  dazzlingly 
brilliant  talent  for  lying  as  to  make  him  a  safe  repository 
for  any  secret  committed  to  his  keeping.  On  the  present 
occasion,  however,  he  had  small  use  for  duplicity.  He 


178  SARACINESCA. 

sat  all  day  long  by  the  open  door,  for  he  had  removed  the 
bell-handle,  lest  the  ringing  should  disturb  his  master. 
He  had  a  basket  into  which  he  dropped  the  cards  of  the 
visitors  who  called,  answering  each  inquiry  with  the 
same  unchanging  words : 

"  He  is  very  ill,  the  signorino.    Do  not  make  any  noise." 

"  Where  is  he  hurt  ?  "  the  visitor  would  ask.  Where 
upon  Temistocle  pointed  to  his  throat. 

"  Will  he  live  ?  "  was  the  next  question ;  to  which  the 
man  answered  by  raising  his  shoulders  to  his  ears,  elevat 
ing  his  eyebrows,  and  at  the  same  time  shutting  his  eyes, 
while  he  spread  out  the  palms  of  his  hands  over  his  basket 
of  cards — whereby  he  meant  to  signify  that  he  did  not 
know,  but  doubted  greatly.  It  being  impossible  to  extract 
any  further  information  from  him,  the  visitor  had  noth 
ing  left  but  to  leave  his  card  and  turn  away.  Within, 
the  wounded  man  was  watched  by  a  Sister  of  Mercy. 
The  surgeon  had  pronounced  his  recovery  probable  if  he 
had  proper  care :  the  wound  was  a  dangerous  one,  but  not 
likely  to  prove  mortal  unless  the  patient  died  of  the  fever 
or  of  exhaustion. 

The  young  gentlemen  of  leisure  who  thus  obtained  the 
news  of  the  two  duellists,  lost  no  time  in  carrying  it  from 
house  to  house.  Giovanni  himself  sent  twice  in  the  course 
of  the  day  to  inquire  after  his  antagonist,  and  received  by 
his  servant  the  answer  which  was  given  to  everybody. 
By  the  time  the  early  winter  night  was  descending  upon 
Kome,  there  were  two  perfectly  well-authenticated  stories 
circulated  in  regard  to  the  cause  of  the  quarrel — neither 
of  which,  of  course,  contained  a  grain  of  truth.  In  the 
first  place,  it  was  confidently  asserted  by  one  party,  repre 
sented  by  Valdarno  and  his  set,  that  Giovanni  had  taken 
offence  at  Del  Ferice  for  having  proposed  to  call  him  to 
be  examined  before  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente  in  regard 
to  his  absence  from  town :  that  this  was  a  palpable  excuse 
for  picking  a  quarrel,  because  it  was  well  known  that  Sar- 
acinesca  loved  the  Astrardente,  and  that  Del  Ferice  was 
always  in  his  way. 


SAEACINESCA.  179 

"Giovanni  is  a  rough  fellow/7  remarked  Valdarno,  "and 
will  not  stand  any  opposition,  so  he  took  the  first  oppor 
tunity  of  getting  the  man  out  of  the  way.  Do  you  see  ? 
The  old  story — jealous  of  the  wrong  man.  Can  one  be 
jealous  of  Del  Ferice  ?  Bah ! " 

"  And  who  would  have-  been  the  right  man  to  attack  ?  " 
was  asked. 

"Her  husband,  of  course,"  returned  Valdarno  with  a 
sneer.  "  That  angel  of  beauty  has  the  ineffably  eccentric 
idea  that  she  loves  that  old  transparency,  that  old  magic- 
lantern  slide  of  a  man ! " 

On  the  other  hand,  there  was  a  party  of  people  who 
affirmed,  as  beyond  all  doubt,  that  the  duel  had  been 
brought  about  by  Giovanni's  forgetting  his  dance  with 
Donna  Tullia.  Del  Ferice  was  naturally  willing  to  put 
himself  forward  in  her  defence,  reckoning  on  the  favour 
he  would  gain  in  her  eyes.  He  had  spoken  sharply  to 
Giovanni  about  it,  and  told  him  he  had  behaved  in  an  un- 
gentlemanly  manner — whereupon  Giovanni  had  answered 
that  it  was  none  of  his  business ;  an  altercation  had  ensued 
in  a  remote  room  in  the  Frangipani  palace,  and  Giovanni 
had  lost  his  temper  and  taken  Del  Ferice  by  the  throat, 
and  otherwise  greatly  insulted  him.  The  result  had  been 
the  duel  in  which  Del  Ferice  had  been  nearly  killed. 
There  was  a  show  of  truth  about  this  story,  and  it  was 
told  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  Del  Ferice  appear  as 
the  injured  party.  Indeed,  whichever  tale  were  true, 
there  was  no  doubt  that  the  two  men  had  disliked  each 
other  for  a  long  time,  and  that  they  were  both  looking 
out  for  the  opportunity  of  an  open  disagreement. 

Old  Saracinesca  appeared  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  sur 
rounded  by  eager  questioners  of  all  sorts.  The  fact  of  his 
having  served  his  own  son  in  the  capacity  of  second  ex 
cited  general  astonishment.  Such  a  thing  had  not  been 
heard  of  in  the  annals  of  Koman  society,  and  many  an 
cient  wisdom-mongers  severely  censured  the  course  he 
had  pursued.  Could  anything  be  more  abominably  un 
natural  ?  Was  it  possible  to  conceive  of  the  hard-heart- 


180  SARACINESCA. 

edness  of  a  man  who  could  stand  quietly  and  see  his  son 
risk  his  life  ?  Disgraceful ! 

The  old  Prince  either  would  not  tell  what  he  knew,  or 
had  no  information  to  give.  The  latter  theory  was  im 
probable.  Some  one  made  a  remark  to  that  effect. 

"  But,  Prince,"  the  man  said,  "  would  you  second  your 
own  son  in  an  affair  without  knowing  the  cause  of  the 
quarrel  ?  " 

"  Sir,"  returned  the  old  man,  proudly,  "  my  son  asked 
my  assistance;  I  did  not  sell  it  to  him  for  his  confidence." 
People  knew  the  old  man's  obstinacy,  and  had  to  be  sat 
isfied  with  his  short  answers,  for  he  was  himself  as  quar 
relsome  as  a  Berserker  or  as  one  of  his  own  irascible 
ancestors. 

He  met  Donna  Tullia  in  the  street.  She  stopped  her 
carriage,  and  beckoned  him  to  come  to  her.  She  looked 
paler  than  Saracinesca  had  ever  seen  her,  and  was  much 
excited. 

"How  could  you  let  them  fight?"  were  her  first  words. 

"It  could  not  be  helped.  The  quarrel  was  too  serious. 
No  one  would  more  gladly  have  prevented  it  than  I ;  but 
as  my  son  had  so  desperately  insulted  Del  Ferice,  he  was 
bound  to  give  him  satisfaction." 

"  Satisfaction  ! "  cried  Donna  Tullia.  "  Do  you  call  it 
satisfaction  to  cut  a  man's  throat  ?  What  was  the  real 
cause  of  the  quarrel  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"Do  not  tell  me  that — I  do  not  believe  you,"  answered 
Donna  Tullia,  angrily. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  I  do  not  know," 
returned  the  Prince. 

"  That  is  different.  Will  you  get  in  and  drive  with 
me  for  a  few  minutes  ?  " 

"At  your  commands."  Saracinesca  opened  the  carriage- 
door  and  got  in. 

"We  shall  astonish  the  world;  but  I  do  not  care,"  said 
Donna  Tullia.  "Tell  me,  is  Don  Giovanni  seriously 
hurt  ?  " 


SAKACINESCA.  181 

"  No — a  couple  of  scratches  that  will  heal  in  a  week. 
Del  Ferice  is  very  seriously  wounded." 

"I  know,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  sadly.  "It  is 
dreadful — I  am  afraid  it  was  my  fault." 

"  How  so  ?  "  asked  Saracinesca,  quickly.  He  had  not 
heard  the  story  of  the  forgotten  waltz,  and  was  really 
ignorant  of  the  original  cause  of  disagreement.  He 
guessed,  however,  that  Donna  Tullia  was  not  so  much 
concerned  in  it  as  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente. 

"  Your  son  was  very  rude  to  me,"  said  Madame  Mayer. 
"Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  tell  you,  but  it  is  best  you  should 
know.  He  was  engaged  to  dance  with  me  the  last  waltz 
but  one  before  the  cotillon.  He  forgot  me,  and  I  found 
him  with  that — with  a  lady — talking  quietly." 

"  With  whom  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Saracinesca,  very 
gravely. 

"  With  the  Astrardente — if  you  will  know,"  returned 
Donna  Tullia,  her  anger  at  the  memory  of  the  insult 
bringing  the  blood  suddenly  to  her  face. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  said  the  old  Prince,  "  in  the  name  of 
my  son  I  offer  you  the  humble  apologies  which  he  will 
make  in  person  when  he  is  well  enough  to  ask  your  for 
giveness." 

"  I  do  not  want  apologies,"  answered  Madame  Mayer, 
turning  her  face  away. 

"  Nevertheless  they  shall  be  offered.  But,  pardon  my 
curiosity,  how  did  Del  Feriee  come  to  be  concerned  in 
that  incident  ?  " 

"  He  was  with  me  when  I  found  Don  Giovanni  with 
the  Duchessa.  It  is  very  simple.  I  was  very  angry — I 
am  very  angry  still ;  but  I  would  not  have  had  Don 
Giovanni  risk  his  life  on  my  account  for  anything,  nor 
poor  Del  Ferice  either.  I  am  horribly  upset  about  it 
all." 

Old  Saracinesca  wondered  whether  Donna  Tullia's 
vanity  would  suffer  if  he  told  her  that  the  duel  had  not 
been  fought  for  anything  which  concerned  her.  But  he 
reflected  that  her  supposition  was  very  plausible,  and 


182  SABACINESCA. 

that  he  himself  had  no  evidence.  Furthermore,  and  in 
spite  of  his  good-natured  treatment  of  Giovanni,  he  was 
very  angry  at  the  thought  that  his  son  had  quarrelled 
about  the  Duchessa.  When  Giovanni  should  be  re 
covered  from  his  wounds  he  intended  to  speak  his  mind 
to  him.  But  he  was  sorry  for  Donna  Tullia,  for  he  liked 
her  in  spite  of  her  eccentricities,  and  would  have  been 
satisfied  to  see  her  married  to  his  son.  He  was  a  practi 
cal  man,  and  he  took  a  prosaic  view  of  the  world.  Donna 
Tullia  was  rich,  and  good-looking  enough  to  be  called 
handsome.  She  had  the  talent  to  make  herself  a  sort  of 
centre  in  her  world.  She  was  a  little  noisy ;  but  noise 
was  fashionable,  and  there  was  no  harm  in  her — no  one 
had  ever  said  anything  against  her.  Besides,  she  was  one 
of  the  few  relations  still  left  to  the  Saracinesca.  The 
daughter  of  a  cousin  of  the  Prince,  she  would  make  a 
good  wife  for  Giovanni,  and  would  bring  sunshine  into 
the  house.  There  was  a  tinge  of  vulgarity  in  her  man 
ner;  but,  like  many  elderly  men  of  his  type,  Saracinesca 
pardoned  her  this  fault  in  consideration  of  her  noisy 
good  spirits  and  general  good-nature.  He  was  very  much 
annoyed  at  hearing  that  his  son  had  offended  her  so 
grossly  by  his  forgetfulness ;  especially  it  was  unfortu 
nate  that  since  she  believed  herself  the  cause  of  the  duel, 
she  should  have  the  impression  that  it  had  been  provoked 
by  Del  Ferice  to  obtain  satisfaction  for  the  insult  Giovanni 
had  offered  -her.  There  would  be  small  chance  of  mak 
ing  the  match  contemplated  after  such  an  affair. 

"I  am  sincerely  sorry/7  said  the  Prince,  stroking  his 
white  beard  and  trying  to  get  a  sight  of  his  companion's 
face,  which  she  obstinately  turned  away  from  him.  "  Per 
haps  it  is  better  not  to  think  too  much  of  the  matter  until 
the  exact  circumstances  are  known.  Some  one  is  sure  to 
tell  the  story  one  of  these  days." 

"  How  coldly  you  speak  of  it !  One  would  think  it  had 
happened  in  Peru,  instead  of  here,  this  very  morning." 

Saracinesca  was  at  his  wits'  end.  He  wanted  to  smooth 
the  matter  over,  or  at  least  to  soften  the  unfavourable  im- 


SARACINESCA.  183 

pression  against  G-iovanni.  He  had  not  the  remotest  idea 
how  to  do  it.  He  was  not  a  very  diplomatic  man. 

"  No,  no  j  you  misunderstand  me.  I  am  not  cold.  I 
quite  appreciate  your  situation.  You  are  very  justly 
annoyed." 

"Of  course  I  am,"  said  Donna  Tullia  impatiently. 
She  was  beginning  to  regret  that  she  had  made  him  get 
into  her  carriage. 

"  Precisely ;  of  course  you  are.  Now,  so  soon  as  Gio 
vanni  is  quite  recovered,  I  will  send  him  to  explain  his 
conduct  to  you  if  he  can,  or  to " 

"  Explain  it  ?  How  can  he  explain  it  ?  I  do  not  want 
you  to  send  him,  if  he  will  not  come  of  his  own  accord. 
Why  should  I  ?  » 

"  Well,  well,  as  you  please,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  old 
Saracinesca,  smiling  to  cover  his  perplexity.  "  I  am  not 
a  good  ambassador ;  but  you  know  I  am  a  good  friend, 
and  I  really  want  to  do  something  to  restore  Giovanni  to 
your  graces." 

"That  will  be  difficult,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  al 
though  she  knew  very  well  that  she  would  receive  Gio 
vanni  kindly  enough  when  she  had  once  had  an  opportu 
nity  of  speaking  her  mind  to  him. 

"Do  not  be  hard-hearted,"  urged  the  Prince.  "I  am 
sure  he  is  very  penitent." 

"  Then  let  him  say  so." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  ask." 

"Is  it?  Oh,  very  well.  If  he  chooses  to  call  I  will 
receive  him,  since  you  desire  it.  Where  shall  I  put  you 
down  ?  " 

"Anywhere,  thank  you.  Here,  if  you  wish — at  the 
corner.  Good-bye.  Do  not  be  too  hard  on  the  boy." 

"We  shall  see,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  unwilling  to 
show  too  much  indulgence.  The  old  Prince  bowed,  and 
walked  away  into  the  gloom  of  the  dusky  streets. 

"  That  is  over,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  I  wonder 
how  the  Astrardente  takes  it."  He  would  have  liked  to 
see  her;  but  he  recognized  that,  as  he  so  very  rarely 


184  SARACINESCA. 

called  upon  her,  it  would  seem  strange  to  choose  such  a 
time  for  his  visit.  It  would  not  do — it  would  be  hardly 
decent,  seeing  that  he  believed  her  to  be  the  cause  of  the 
catastrophe.  His  steps,  however,  led  him  almost  uncon 
sciously  in  the  direction  of  the  Astrardente  palace ;  he 
found  himself  in  front  of  the  arched  entrance  almost  be 
fore  he  knew  where  he  was.  The  temptation  to  see  Co 
rona  was  more  than  he  could  resist.  He  asked  the  porter 
if  the  Duchessa  was  at  home,  and  on  being  answered  in 
the  affirmative,  he  boldly  entered  and  ascended  the 
marble  staircase — boldly,  but  with  an  odd  sensation,  like 
that  of  a  schoolboy  who  is  getting  himself  into  trouble. 

Corona  had  just  come  home,  and  was  sitting  by  the  fire 
in  her  great  drawing-room,  alone,  with  a  book  in  her 
hand,  which  she  was  not  reading.  She  rarely  remained 
in  the  reception-rooms ;  but  to-day  she  had  rather  capri 
ciously  taken  a  fancy  to  the  broad  solitude  of  the  place, 
and  had  accordingly  installed  herself  there.  She  was 
very  much  surprised  when  the  doors  were  suddenly 
opened  wide  and  the  servant  announced  Prince  Sara- 
cinesca.  For  a  moment  she  thought  it  must  be  Giovanni, 
for  his  father  rarely  entered  her  house,  and  when  the 
old  man's  stalwart  figure  advanced  towards  her,  she 
dropped  her  book  in  astonishment,  and  rose  from  her 
deep  chair  to  meet  him.  She  was  very  pale,  and  there 
were  dark  rings  under  her  eyes  that  spoke  of  pain  and 
want  of  sleep.  She  was  so  utterly  different  from  Donna 
Tullia,  whom  he  had  just  left,  that  the  Prince  was  almost 
awed  by  her  stateliness,  and  felt  more  than  ever  like  a 
boy  in  a  bad  scrape.  Corona  bowed  rather  coldly,  but 
extended  her  hand,  which  the  old  gentleman  raised  to 
his  lips  respectfully,  in  the  manner  of  the  old  school. 

"  I  trust  you  are  not  exhausted  after  the  ball  ?  "  he 
began,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"Not  in  the  least.  We  did  not  stay  late,"  replied 
Corona,  secretly  wondering  why  he  had  come. 

"It  was  really  magnificent,"  he  answered.  "There 
has  been  no  such  ball  for  years.  Very  unfortunate  that 


SABACINESCA.  185 

it  should  have  terminated  in  such  an  unpleasant  way," 
he  added,  making  a  bold  dash  at  the  subject  of  which  he 
wished  to  speak. 

"Very.  You  did  a  bad  morning's  work,"  said  the 
Duchessa,  severely.  "I  wonder  that  you  should  speak 
of  it." 

"  No  one  speaks  of  anything  else,"  returned  the  Prince, 
apologetically.  "  Besides,  I  do  not  see  what  was  to  be 
done." 

"You  should  have  stopped  it,"  answered  Corona,  her 
dark  eyes  gleaming  with  righteous  indignation.  "You 
should  have  prevented  it  at  any  price,  if  not  in  the  name 
of  religion,  which  forbids  it  as  a  crime,  at  least  in  the 
name  of  decency — as  being  Don  Giovanni's  father." 

"  You  speak  strong  words,  Duchessa,"  said  the  Prince, 
evidently  annoyed  at  her  tone. 

"  If  I  speak  strongly,  it  is  because  I  think  you  acted 
shamefully  in  permitting  this  disgraceful  butchery." 

Saracinesca  suddenly  lost  his  temper,  as  he  frequently 
did. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "it  is  certainly  not  for  you  to 
accuse  me  of  crime,  lack  of  decency,  and  what  you  are 
pleased  to  call  disgraceful  butchery,  seeing  who  was  the 
probable  cause  of  the  honourable  encounter  which  you 
characterise  in  such  tasteful  language." 

"  Honourable  indeed !  "  said  Corona,  very  scornfully. 
"  Let  that  pass.  Who,  pray,  is  more  to  blame  than  you  ? 
Who  is  the  probable  cause  ?  " 

"  Need  I  tell  you  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  fixing  his 
flashing  eyes  upon  her. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Corona,  turning 
white,  and  her  voice  trembling  between  her  anger  and 
her  emotion. 

"I  may  be  wrong,"  said  the  Prince,  "but  I  believe  I 
am  right.  I  believe  the  duel  was  fought  on  your 
account." 

"  On  my  account !  "  repeated  Corona,  half  rising  from 
her  chair  in  her  indignation.  Then  she  sank  back  again, 


186  SARACINESCA. 

and  added,  very  coldly,  "  If  you  have  come  here  to  insult 
me,  Prince,  I  will  send  for  my  husband." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Duchessa,"  said  old  Saracinesca. 
"  It  is  very  far  from  my  intention  to  insult  you." 

"  And  who  has  told  you  this  abominable  lie  ?  "  asked 
Corona,  still  very  angry. 

"  No  one,  upon  my  word." 

"  Then  how  dare  you " 

"  Because  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you  are  the 
only  woman  alive  for  whom  my  son  would  engage  in  a 
quarrel." 

"  It  is  impossible,"  cried  Corona.  "  I  will  never  believe 
that  Don  Giovanni  could "  She  checked  herself. 

"Don  Giovanni  Saracinesca  is  a  gentleman,  madam," 
said  the  old  Prince,  proudly.  "  He  keeps  his  own  coun 
sel.  I  have  come  by  the  information  without  any  evi 
dence  of  it  from  his  lips." 

"Then  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  you,"  returned 
the  Duchessa.  "  I  must  beg  you  either  to  explain  your 
extraordinary  language,  or  else  to  leave  me." 

Corona  d'Astrardente  was  a  match  for  any  man  when 
she  was  angry.  But  old  Saracinesca,  though  no  diplo 
matist,  was  a  formidable  adversary,  from  his  boldness 
and  determination  to  discover  the  truth  at  any  price. 

"  It  is  precisely  because,  at  the  risk  of  offending  you,  I 
desired  an  explanation,  that  I  have  intruded  myself  upon 
you  to-day,"  he  answered.  "  Will  you  permit  me  one 
question  before  I  leave  you  ?  " 

"  Provided  it  is  not  an  insulting  one,  I  will  answer  it," 
replied  Corona. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  circumstances  which  led 
to  this  morning's  encounter  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  Corona  answered,  hotly.  "  I  assure 
you  most  solemnly,"  she  continued  in  calmer  tones,  "  that 
I  am  wholly  ignorant  of  it.  I  suppose  you  have  a  right  to 
be  told  that." 

"I,  on  my  part,  assure  you,  upon  my  word,  that  I  know 
no  more  than  you  yourself,  excepting  this :  on  some  provo- 


SAKACINESCA.  187 

cation,  concerning  which  he  will  not  speak,  my  son  seized 
Del  Ferice  by  the  throat  and  used  strong  words  to  him. 
~No  one  witnessed  the  scene.  Del  Ferice  sent  the  challenge. 
My  son  could  find  no  one  to  act  for  him  and  applied 
to  me,  as  was  quite  right  that  he  should.  There  was  no 
apology  possible — Giovanni  had  to  give  the  man  satisfac 
tion.  You  know  as  much  as  I  know  now." 

"  That  does  not  help  me  to  understand  why  you  accuse 
me  of  having  caused  the  quarrel/'  said  Corona.  "  What 
have  I  to  do  with  Del  Ferice,  poor  man  ?  " 

"  This — any  one  can  see  that  you  are  as  indifferent  to 
my  son  as  to  any  other  man.  Every  one  knows  that  the 
Duchessa  d'Astrardente  is  above  suspicion." 

Corona  raised  her  head  proudly  and  stared  at  Sara- 
cinesca. 

"  But,  on  the  other  hand,  every  one  knows  that  my  son 
loves  you  madly — can  you  yourself  deny  it  ?  " 

"  Who  dares  to  say  it  ?  "  asked  Corona,  her  anger  rising 
afresh. 

"  Who  sees,  dares.     Can  you  deny  it  ?  " 

"  You  have  no  right  to  repeat  such  hearsay  tales  to 
me,"  answered  Corona.  But  the  blush  rose  to  her  pale 
dark  cheeks,  and  she  suddenly  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  Can  you  deny  it,  Duchessa?  "  asked  the  Prince  a  third 
time,  insisting  roughly. 

"  Since  you  are  so  certain,  why  need  you  care  for  my 
denial  ?  "  inquired  Corona. 

"Duchessa,  you  must  forgive  me,"  answered  Saracinesca, 
his  tone  suddenly  softening.  "  I  am  rough,  probably  rude ; 
but  I  love  my  son  dearly.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  him  run 
ning  into  a  dangerous  and  hopeless  passion,  from  which  he 
may  issue  only  to  find  himself  grown  suddenly  old  and 
bitter,  disappointed  and  miserable  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 
I  believe  you  to  be  a  very  good  woman ;  I  cannot  look  at 
you  and  doubt  the  truth  of  anything  you  tell  me.  If  he 
loves  you,  you  have  influence  over  him.  If  you  have  in 
fluence,  use  it  for  his  good  ;  use  it  to  break  down  this  mad 
love  of  his,  to  show  him  his  own  folly — to  save  him,  in 


188  SAEACINESCA. 

short,  from  his  fate.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  Do  I  ask 
too  much  ?  " 

Corona  understood  well  enough — far  too  well.  She 
knew  the  whole  extent  of  Giovanni's  love  for  her,  and, 
what  old  Saracinesca  never  guessed,  the  strength  of  her 
own  love  for  him,  for  the  sake  of  which  she  would  do  all 
that  a  woman  could  do.  There  was  a  long  pause  after 
the  old  Prince  had  spoken.  He  waited  patiently  for  an 
answer. 

"  I  understand  you — yes,"  she  said  at  last.  "  If  you  are 
right  in  your  surmises,  I  should  have  some  influence  over 
your  son.  If  I  can  advise  him,  and  he  will  take  my  advice, 
I  will  give  him  the  best  counsel  I  can.  You  have  placed 
me  in  a  very  embarrassing  position,  and  you  have  shown 
little  courtesy  in  the  way  you  have  spoken  to  me ;  but  I 
will  try  to  do  as  you  request  me,  if  the  opportunity  offers, 
for  the  sake  of — of  turning  what  is  very  bad  into  some 
thing  which  may  at  last  be  good." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  Duchessa  ! "  cried  the  Prince. 
"  I  will  never  forget " 

"  Do  not  thank  me,"  said  Corona,  coldly.  "  I  am  not  in 
a  mood  to  appreciate  your  gratitude.  There  is  too  much 
blood  of  those  honest  gentlemen  upon  your  hands." 

"  Pardon  me,  Duchessa,  I  wish  there  were  on  my  hands 
and  head  the  blood  of  that  gentleman  you  call  honest — 
the  gentleman  who  twice  tried  to  murder  my  son  this 
morning,  and  twice  nearly  succeeded." 

"  What ! "  cried  Corona,  in  sudden  terror. 

"  That  fellow  thrust  at  Giovanni  once  to  kill  him  while 
they  were  halting  and  his  sword  was  hanging  lowered  in 
his  hand;  and  once  again  he  threw  himself  upon  his 
knee  and  tried  to  stab  him  in  the  body — which  is  a 
dastardly  trick  not  permitted  in  any  country.  Even  in 
duelling,  such  things  are  called  murder ;  and  it  is  their 
right  name." 

Corona  was  very  pale.  Giovanni's  danger  had  been 
suddenly  brought  before  her  in  a  very  vivid  light,  and 
she  was  horror-struck  at  the  thought  of  it. 


SARACINESCA.  189 

"Is — is  Don  Giovanni  very  badly  wounded  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No,  thank  heaven ;  he  will  be  well  in  a  week.  But 
either  one  of  those  attempts  might  have  killed  him ;  and 
he  would  have  died,  I  think — pardon  me,  no  insult  this 
time — I  think,  on  your  account.  Do  you  see  why  for 
him  I  dread  this  attachment  to  you,  which  leads  him  to 
risk  his  life  at  every  turn  for  a  word  about  you  ?  Do 
you  see  why  I  implore  you  to  take  the  matter  into  your 
serious  consideration,  and  to  use  your  influence  to  bring 
him  to  his  senses  ?  " 

"  I  see ;  but  in  this  question  of  the  duel  you  have  no 
proof  that  I  was  concerned." 

"  JSTo, — no  proof,  perhaps.  I  will  not  weary  you  with 
surmises ;  but  even  if  it  was  not  for  you  this  time,  you 
see  that  it  might  have  been." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Corona,  very  sadly. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you,  even  if  you  will  not  listen  to 
me,"  said  the  Prince,  rising.  "You  have  understood 
me.  It  was  all  I  asked.  Good  night." 

"Good  night,"  answered  Corona,  who  did  not  move 
from  her  seat  nor  extend  her  hand  this  time.  She  was 
too  much  agitated  to  think  of  formalities.  Saracinesca 
bowed  low  and  left  the  room. 

It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  had  come  to  see 
the  Duchessa  not  knowing  what  he  should  say,  and  that 
he  had  blurted  out  the  whole  truth,  and  then  lost  his 
temper  in  support  of  it.  He  was  a  hasty  man,  of  noble 
instincts,  but  always  inclined  rather  to  cut  a  knot  than 
to  unloose  it — to  do  by  force  what  another  man  would 
do  by  skill — angry  at  opposition,  and  yet  craving  it  by 
his  combative  nature. 

His  first  impulse  on  leaving  Corona  was  to  go  to 
Giovanni  and  tell  him  what  he  had  done ;  but  he  reflected 
as  he  went  home  that  his  son  was  ill  with  his  wounds, 
and  that  it  would  be  bad  for  him  to  be  angry,  as  of 
course  he  would  be  if  he  were  told  of  his  father's  doings. 
Moreover,  as  old  Saracinesca  thought  more  seriously 

of  the   ma,tter,  he  wisely  concluded   that   it  would   be 
Vol.  10—9 


190  SABACINESCA. 

better  not  to  speak  of  the  visit ;  and  when  he  entered 
the  room  where  Giovanni  was  lying  on  his  couch  with  a 
novel  and  a  cigarette,  he  had  determined  to  conceal  the 
whole  matter. 

"Well,  Giovanni,"  he  said,  "we  are  the  talk  of  the 
town,  of  course." 

"  It  was  to  be  expected.     Whom  have  you  seen  ?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  have  seen  Madame  Mayer.  She 
is  in  a  state  of  anger  against  you  which  borders  on  mad 
ness — not  because  you  have  wounded  Del  Ferice,  but 
because  you  forgot  to  dance  with  her.  I  cannot  conceive 
how  you  could  be  so  foolish." 

"Nor  I.  It  was  idiotic  in  the  last  degree,"  replied 
Giovanni,  annoyed  that  his  father  should  have  learned 
the  story. 

"  You  must  go  and  see  her  at  once — as  soon  as  you  can 
go  out.  It  is  a  disagreeable  business." 

"  Of  course.     What  else  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  thought  that  Del  Ferice  had  challenged  you  on 
her  account,  because  you  had  not  danced  with  her." 

"How  silly !     As  if  I  should  fight  duels  about  her." 

"  Since  there  was  probably  a  woman  in  the  case,  she 
might  have  been  the  one,"  remarked  his  father. 

"  There  was  no  woman  in  the  case,  practically  speak 
ing,"  said  Giovanni,  shortly. 

"  Oh,  I  supposed  there  was.  However,  I  told  Donna 
Tullia  that  I  advised  her  not  to  think  anything  more  of 
the  matter  until  the  whole  story  came  out." 

"  When  is  that  likely  to  occur  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  laugh 
ing.  "  No  one  alive  knows  the  cause  of  the  quarrel  but 
Del  Ferice  and  I  myself.  He  will  certainly  not  tell  the 
world,  as  the  thing  was  even  more  disgraceful  to  him  than 
his  behaviour  this  morning.  There  is  no  reason  why  I 
should  speak  of  it  either." 

"  How  reticent  you  are,  Giovanni ! "  exclaimed  the  old 
gentleman. 

"  Believe  me,  if  I  could  tell  you  the  whole  story  with 
out  injuring  any  one  but  Del  Ferice,  I  would." 


SARACINESCA.  191 

"  Then  there  was  really  a  woman  in  the  case  ?  " 
"  There  was  a  woman  outside  the  case,  who  caused  us  to 
be  in  it,"  returned  Giovanni. 

"  Always  your  detestable  riddles,"  cried  the  old  man, 
petulantly ;  and  presently,  seeing  that  his  son  was  obsti 
nately  silent,  he  left  the  room  to  dress  for  dinner. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

It  may  be  that  when  Astrardente  spoke  so  tenderly  to 
his  wife  after  the  Frangipani  ball,  he  felt  some  warning 
that  told  him  his  strength  was  failing.  His  heart  was  in  a 
dangerous  condition,  the  family  doctor  had  said,  and  it  was 
necessary  that  he  should  take  care  of  himself.  He  had  been 
very  tired  after  that  long  evening,  and  perhaps  some  sudden 
sinking  had  shaken  his  courage.  He  awoke  from  an  un 
usually  heavy  sleep  with  a  strange  sense  of  astonishment, 
as  though  he  had  not  expected  to  awake  again  in  life.  He 
felt  weaker  than  he  had  felt  for  a  long  time,  and  even  his 
accustomed  beverage  of  chocolate  mixed  with  coffee  failed 
to  give  him  the  support  he  needed  in  the  morning.  He  rose 
very  late,  and  his  servant  found  him  more  than  usually 
petulant,  nor  did  the  message  brought  back  from  Giovanni 
seem  to  improve  his  temper.  He  met  his  wife  at  the  mid 
day  breakfast,  and  was  strangely  silent,  and  in  the  after 
noon  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  rooms  and  would  see 
nobody.  But  at  dinner  he  appeared  again,  seemingly  re 
vived,  and  declared  his  intention  of  accompanying  his 
wife  to  a  reception  given  at  the  Austrian  embassy.  He 
seemed  so  unlike  his  usual  self,  that  Corona  did  not  ven 
ture  to  speak  of  the  duel  which  had  taken  place  in  the 
morning;  for  she  feared  anything  which  might  excite 
him,  well  knowing  that  excitement  might  prove  fatal. 
She  did  what  she  could  to  dissuade  him  from  going  out  ; 
but  he  grew  petulant,  and  she  unwillingly  yielded. 


192  SARACINESCA. 

At  the  embassy  he  soon  heard  all  the  details,  for  no  one 
talked  of  anything  else ;  but  Astrardente  was  ashamed  of 
not  having  heard  it  all  before,  and  affected  a  cynical  in 
difference  to  the  tale  which  the  military  attache  of  the 
embassy  repeated  for  his  benefit.  He  vouchsafed  some 
remark  to  the  effect  that  fighting  duels  was  the  natural 
amusement  of  young  gentlemen,  and  that  if  one  of  them 
killed  another  there  was  at  least  one  fool  the  less  in 
society ;  after  which  he  looked  about  him  for  some  young 
beauty  to  whom  he  might  reel  off  a  score  of  compliments. 
He  knew  all  the  time  that  he  was  making  a  great  effort, 
that  he  felt  unaccountably  ill,  and  that  he  wished  he  had 
taken  his  wife's  advice  and  stayed  quietly  at  home.  But 
at  the  end  of  the  evening  he  chanced  to  overhear  a  re 
mark  that  Valdarno  was  making  to  Casalverde,  who 
looked  exceedingly  pale  and  ill  at  ease. 

"  You  had  better  make  your  will,  my  dear  fellow,"  said 
Yaldarno.  "  Spicca  is  a  terrible  man  with  the  foils." 

Astrardente  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  the  speaker. 
But  both  men  were  suddenly  silent,  and  seemed  absorbed 
in  gazing  at  the  crowd.  It  was  enough,  however.  Astrar 
dente  had  gathered  that  Casalverde  was  to  fight  Spicca 
the  next  day,  and  that  the  affair  begun  that  morning  had 
not  yet  reached  its  termination.  He  determined  that  he 
would  not  again  be  guilty  of  not  knowing  what  was  going 
on  in  society ;  and  with  the  intention  of  rising  early  on 
the  following  morning,  he  found  Corona,  and  rather  un 
ceremoniously  told  her  it  was  time  to  go  home. 

On  the  next  day  the  Duca  d' Astrardente  walked  into 
the  club  soon  after  ten  o'clock.  On  ordinary  occasions 
that  resort  of  his  fellows  was  entirely  empty  until  a  much 
later  hour ;  but  Astrardente  was  not  disappointed  to-day. 
Twenty  or  thirty  men  were  congregated  in  the  large  hall 
which  served  as  a  smoking-room,  and  all  of  them  were 
talking  together  excitedly.  As  the  door  swung  on  its 
hinges  and  the  old  dandy  entered,  a  sudden  silence  fell 
upon  the  assembly.  Astrardente  naturally  judged  that 
the  conversation  had  turned  upon  himself,  and  had  been 


SARACINESCA.  198 

checked  by  his  appearance;  but  he  affected  to  take  no 
notice  of  the  occurrence,  adjusting  his  single  eyeglass  in 
his  eye  and  serenely  surveying  the  men  in  the  room. 
He  could  see  that,  although  they  had  been  talking  loudly, 
the  matter  in  hand  was  serious  enough,  for  there  was  no 
trace  of  mirth  on  any  of  the  faces  before  him.  He  at 
once  assumed  an  air  of  gravity,  and  going  up  to  Valdarno, 
who  seemed  to  have  occupied  the  most  prominent  place  in 
the  recent  discussion,  he  put  his  question  in  an  undertone. 

"  I  suppose  Spicca  killed  him  ?  " 

Valdarno  nodded,  and  looked  grave.  He  was  a  thought, 
less  young  fellow  enough,  but  the  news  of  the  tragedy 
had  sobered  him.  Astrardente  had  anticipated  the  death 
of  Casalverde,  and  was  not  surprised.  But  he  was  not 
without  human  feeling,  and  showed  a  becoming  regret  at 
the  sad  end  of  a  man  he  had  been  accustomed  to  see  so 
frequently. 

"How  was  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"A  simple  <un,  deux/  tierce  and  carte  at  the  first  bout. 
Spicca  is  as  quick  as  lightning.  Come  away  from  this 
crowd,"  added  Valdarno,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  it." 

In  spite  of  his  sorrow  at  his  friend's  death,  Valdarno 
felt  a  certain  sense  of  importance  at  being  able  to  tell  the 
story  to  Astrardente.  Valdarno  was  vain  in  a  small  way, 
though  his  vanity  was  to  that  of  the  old  Duca  as  the 
humble  violet  to  the  full-blown  cabbage-rose.  Astrardente 
enjoyed  a  considerable  importance  in  society  as* the  hus 
band  of  Corona,  and  was  an  object  of  especial  interest  to 
Valdarno,  who  supported  the  incredible  theory  of  Corona's 
devotion  to  the  old  man.  Valdarno's  stables  were  near 
the  club,  and  on  pretence  of  showing  a  new  horse  to 
Astrardente,  he  nodded  to  his  friends,  and  left  the  room 
with  the  aged  dandy.  It  was  a  clear,  bright  winter's 
morning,  and  the  two  men  strolled  slowly  down  the  Corso 
towards  Valdarno's  palace. 

"  You  know,  of  course,  how  the  affair  began  ?  "  asked 
the  young  man. 


194  SARACINESCA. 

"  The  first  duel  ?    Nobody  knows — certainly  not  I." 

"  Well — perhaps  not,"  returned  Valdarno,  doubtfully. 
"  At  all  events,  you  know  that  Spicca  flew  into  a  passion 
because  poor  Casalverde  forgot  to  step  in  after  he  cried 
halt ;  and  then  Del  Ferice  ran  Giovanni  through  the  arm." 

"  That  was  highly  improper — most  reprehensible,"  said 
Astrardente,  putting  up  his  eyeglass  to  look  at  a  pretty 
little  sempstress  who  hurried  past  on  her  way  to  her  work. 

"I  suppose  so.  But  Casalverde  certainly  meant  no 
harm ;  and  if  Del  Ferice  had  not  been  so  unlucky  as  to 
forget  himself  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  no  one 
would  have  thought  anything  of  it." 

"  Ah  yes,  I  suppose  not,"  murmured  Astrardente,  still 
looking  after  the  girl.  When  he  could  see  her  face  no 
longer,  he  turned  sharply  back  to  Valdarno. 

"  This  is  exceedingly  interesting,"  he  said.  "  Tell  me 
more  about  it." 

"  Well,  when  it  was  over,  old  Saracinesca  was  for  killing 
Casalverde  himself." 

"  The  old  fire-eater !  He  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  him 
self." 

"However,  Spicca  was  before  him,  and  challenged  Casal 
verde  then  and  there.  As  both  the  principals  in  the  first 
duel  were  so  badly  wounded,  it  had  to  be  put  off  until 
this  morning." 

"They  went  out,  and — piff,  paff!  Spicca  ran  him 
through,"  interrupted  Astrardente.  "What  a  horrible 
tragedy ! " 

"  Ah  yes ;  and  what  is  worse " 

"What  surprises  me  most,"  interrupted  the  Duca  again, 
"  is  that  in  this  delightfully  peaceful  and  paternally  gov 
erned  little  nest  of  ours,  the  authorities  should  not  have 
been  able  to  prevent  either  of  these  duels.  It  is  perfectly 
amazing !  I  cannot  remember  a  parallel  instance.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  there  was  not  a  sbirro  or  a  gendarme 
in  the  neighbourhood  to-day  nor  yesterday  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  so  surprising,"  answered  Valdarno,  with  a 
knowing  look.  "There  would  have  been  few  tears  in 


SABACINESCA.  195 

high  quarters  if  Del  Fence  had  been  killed  yesterday ; 
there  will  be  few  to-day  over  the  death  of  poor  Casal- 
verde." 

"Bah!"  ejaculated  Astrardente.  "  If  Antonelli  had 
heard  of  these  affairs  he  would  have  stopped  them  soon 
enough." 

Valdarno  glanced  behind  him,  and,  bending  a  little, 
whispered  in  Astrardente's  ear — 

"  They  were  both  Liberals,  you  must  know." 

"  Liberals  ?  "  repeated  the  old  dandy,  with  a  cynical 
sneer.  "  Nonsense,  I  say  !  Liberals  ?  Yes,  in  the  way 
you  are  a  Liberal,  and  Donna  Tullia  Mayer,  and  Spicca 
himself,  who  has  just  killed  that  other  Liberal,  Casalverde. 
Liberals  indeed  !  Do  you  natter  yourself  for  a  moment 
that  Antonelli  is  afraid  of  such  Liberals  as  you  are  ?  Do 
you  think  the  life  of  Del  Ferice  is  of  any  more  importance 
to  politics  than  the  life  of  that  dog  there  ?  " 

It  was  Astrardente's  habit  to  scoff  mercilessly  at  all  the 
petty  manifestations  of  political  feeling  he  saw  about  him 
in  the  world.  He  represented  a  class  distinct  both  from 
the  Valdarno  set  and  from  the  men  represented  by  the 
Saracinesca — a  class  who  despised  everything  political  as 
unworthy  of  the  attention  of  gentlemen,  who  took  every 
thing  for  granted,  and  believed  that  all  was  for  the  best, 
provided  that  society  moved  upon  rollers  and  so  long  as 
no  one  meddled  with  old  institutions.  To  question  the 
wisdom  of  the  municipal  regulations  was  to  attack  the 
Government  itself;  to  attack  the  Government  was  to  cast 
a  slight  upon  his  Holiness  the  Pope,  which  was  rank 
heresy,  and  very  vulgar  into  the  bargain.  Astrardente 
had  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world,  but  his  ideas  of  politics 
were  almost  childishly  simple — whereas  many  people  said 
that  his  principles  in  relation  to  his  fellows  were  fiendishly 
cynical.  He  was  certainly  not  a  very  good  man ;  and  if 
he  pretended  to  no  reputation  for  devoutness,  it  was  prob 
able  that  he  recognised  the  absurdity  of  his  attempting 
such  a  pose.  But  politically  he  believed  in  Cardinal 
Antonelli's  ability  to  defy  Europe  with  or  without  the 


196  SARACINESCA. 

aid  of  France,  and  laughed  as  loudly  at  Louis  Napoleon's 
old  idea  of  putting  the  sovereign  Pontiff  at  the  head  of 
an  Italian  federation,  as  he  jeered  at  Cavour's  favourite 
phrase  concerning  a  free  Church  in  a  free  State.  He  had 
good  blood  in  him,  and  the  hereditary  courage  often  found 
with  it.  He  had  a  certain  skill  in  matters  worldly ;  but  his 
wit  in  things  political  seemed  to  belong  to  an  earlier  gener 
ation,  and  to  be  incapable  of  receiving  new  impressions. 

But  Valdarno,  who  was  vain  and  set  great  value  on  his 
opinions,  was  deeply  offended  at  the  way  Astrardente 
spoke  of  him  and  his  friends.  In  his  eyes  he  was  risking 
much  for  what  he  considered  a  good  object,  and  he  re 
sented  any  contemptuous  mention  of  Liberal  principles, 
whenever  he  dared.  No  one  cared  much  for  Astrardente, 
and  certainly  no  one  feared  him ;  nevertheless  in  those 
times  men  hesitated  to  defend  anything  which  came  under 
the  general  head  of  Liberalism,  when  they  were  likely  to 
be  overheard,  or  when  they  could  not  trust  the  man  to 
whom  they  were  speaking.  If  no  one  feared  Astrardente, 
no  one  trusted  him  either.  Valdarno  consequently  judged 
it  best  to  smother  his  annoyance  at  the  old  man's  words, 
and  to  retaliate  by  striking  him  in  a  weak  spot. 

"  If  you  despise  Del  Ferice  as  much  as  you  say,"  he  re 
marked,  "  I  wonder  that  you  tolerate  him  as  you  do." 

"  I  tolerate  him.  Toleration  is  the  very  word — it  de 
lightfully  expresses  my  feelings  towards  him.  He  is  a 
perfectly  harmless  creature,  who  affects  immense  depth 
of  insight  into  human  affairs,  and  who  cannot  see  an  inch 
before  his  face.  Dear  me !  yes,  I  shall  always  tolerate 
Del  Ferice,  poor  fellow  ! " 

"  You  may  not  be  called  upon  to  do  so  much  longer," 
replied  Valdarno.  "  They  say  he  is  in  a  very  dangerous 
condition." 

"Ah!"  ejaculated  Astrardente,  putting  up  his  eye 
glass  at  his  companion.  "  Ah,  you  don't  say  so ! " 

There  was  something  so  insolent  in  the  old  man's 
affected  stare  that  even  the  foolish  and  good-natured  Val 
darno  lost  his  temper,  being  already  somewhat  irritated. 


SARACINESCA.  197 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  you  should  be  so  indifferent.  It  is 
frardly  becoming.  If  you  had  not  tolerated  him  as  you 
have,  he  might  not  be  lying  there  at  the  point  of  death." 

Astrardente  stared  harder  than  ever. 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  your  language  is 
the  most  extraordinary  I  ever  heard.  How  in  the  world 
can  my  treatment  of  that  unfortunate  man  have  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  his  being  wounded  in  a  duel  ?  " 

"My  dear  old  friend,"  replied  Valdarno,  impudently 
mimicking  the  old  man's  tone,  "  your  simplicity  surpasses 
anything  I  ever  knew.  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not 
know  that  this  duel  was  fought  for  your  wife  ?  " 

Astrardente  looked  fixedly  at  Valdarno ;  his  eyeglass 
dropped  from  his  eye,  and  he  turned  ashy  pale  beneath 
his  paint.  He  staggered  a  moment,  and  steadied  himself 
against  the  door  of  a  shop.  They  were  just  passing  the 
corner  of  the  Piazza  di  Sciarra,  the  most  crowded  crossing 
of  the  Corso. 

"Valdarno,"  said  the  old  man,  his  cracked  voice  drop 
ping  to  a  hoarser  and  deeper  tone,  "  you  must  explain 
yourself  or  answer  for  this." 

"  What !  Another  duel ! "  cried  Valdarno,  in  some 
scorn.  Then,  seeing  that  his  companion  looked  ill,  he 
took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him  rapidly  through  the 
crowd,  across  the  Arco  dei  Carbognani.  Entering  the 
Gaffe  Aragno,  a  new  institution  in  those  days,  both  men 
sat  down  at  a  small  marble  table.  The  old  dandy  was 
white  with  emotion ;  Valdarno  felt  that  he  was  enjoying 
his  revenge. 

"  A  glass  of  cognac,  Duke  ?  "  he  said,  as  the  waiter 
came  up.  Astrardente  nodded,  and  there  was  silence 
while  the  man  brought  the  cordial.  The  Duca  lived  by 
an  invariable  rule,  seeking  to  balance  the  follies  of  his 
youth  by  excessive  care  in  his  old  age ;  it  was  long,  in 
deed,  since  he  had  taken  a  glass  of  brandy  in  the  morning. 
He  swallowed  it  quickly,  and  the  stimulant  produced  its 
effect  immediately ;  he  readjusted  his  eyeglass,  and  faced 
Valdarno  sternly. 


198  SAKACINESCA. 

"  And  now,"  lie  said,  "  that  we  are  at  our  ease,  may  I 
inquire  what  the  devil  you  mean  by  your  insinuations 
about  my  wife  ?  " 

"Oh,"  replied  Valdarno,  affecting  great  indifference, 
"  I  only  say  what  everybody  says.  There  is  no  offence 
to  the  Duehessa." 

"I  should  suppose  not,  indeed.     Go  on." 

"  Do  you  really  care  to  hear  the  story  ? "  asked  the 
young  man. 

"  I  intend  to  hear  it,  and  at  once,"  replied  Astrardente. 

"  You  will  not  have  to  employ  force  to  extract  it  from 
me,  I  can  assure  you,"  said  Valdarno,  settling  himself  in 
his  chair,  but  avoiding  the  angry  glance  of  the  old  man. 
"  Everybody  has  been  repeating  it  since  the  day  before 
yesterday,  when  it  occurred.  You  were  at  the  Frangipani 
ball — you  might  have  seen  it  all.  In  the  first  place,  you 
must  know  that  there  exists  another  of  those  beings  to 
whom  you  extend  your  merciful  toleration — a  certain 
Giovanni  Saracinesca — you  may  have  noticed  him  ?  " 

"  What  of  him  ?  "  asked  Astrardente,  fiercely. 

"  Among  other  things,  he  is  the  man  who  wounded  Del 
Ferice,  as  I  daresay  you  have  heard.  Among  other  things 
concerning  him,  he  has  done  himself  the  honour  of  fall 
ing  desperately,  madly  in  love  with  the  Duehessa  d' Astrar 
dente,  who " 

"  What  ? "  cried  the  old  man  in  a  cracked  voice,  as 
Valdarno  paused. 

"  Who  does  you  the  honour  of  ignoring  his  existence 
on  most  occasions,  but  who  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  re 
call  him  to  her  memory  on  the  night  of  the  Frangipani 
ball.  We  were  all  sitting  in  a  circle  round  the  Duchessa's 
chair  that  night,  when  the  conversation  chanced  to  turn 
upon  this  same  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  a  fire-eating  fellow 
with  a  bad  temper.  He  had  been  away  for  some  days  ; 
indeed  he  was  last  seen  at  the  Apollo  in  your  box,  when 
they  gave  '  Norma ' " 

"  I  remember,"  interrupted  Astrardente.  The  mention 
of  that  evening  was  but  a  random  shot.  Valdarno  had 


SARACINTSSCA.  199 

been  in  the  club-box,  and  had  seen  Giovanni  when  he 
made  his  visit  to  the  Astrardente  ;  he  had  not  seen  him 
again  till  the  Frangipani  ball. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  we  spoke  of  Giovanni,  and 
every  one  had  something  to  say  about  his  absence.  The 
Duchessa  expressed  her  curiosity,  and  Del  Ferice,  who 
was  with  us,  proposed  calling  him — he  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  you  see — that  he  might  answer  for  him 
self.  So  I  went  and  brought  him  up.  He  was  in  a  very 
bad  humour " 

"What  has  all  this  absurd  story  got  to  do  with  the 
matter  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  impatiently. 

"It  is  the  matter  itself.  The  irascible  Giovanni  is 
angry  at  being  questioned,  treats  us  all  like  mud  under 
his  feet,  sits  down  by  the  Duchessa  and  forces  us  to  go 
away.  The  Duchessa  tells  him  the  story,  with  a  laugh 
no  doubt,  and  Giovanni's  wrath  overflows.  Ete  goes  in 
search  of  Del  Ferice,  and  nearly  strangles  him.  The  re 
sult  of  these  eccentricities  is  the  first  duel,  leading  to  the 
second." 

Astrardente  was  very  angry,  and  his  thin  gloved  hands 
twitched  nervously  at  the  handle  of  his  stick. 

"  And  this/7  he  said — "  this  string  of  trivial  ball-room 
incident,  seems  to  you  a  sufficient  pretext  for  stating 
that  the  duel  was  about  my  wife  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Valdarno,  coolly.  "  If  Saracinesca 
had  not  been  for  months  openly  devoting  himself  to  the 
Duchessa — who,  I  assure  you,  takes  no  kind  of  notice  of 
him " 

"  You  need  not  waste  words " 

"  I  do  not, — and  if  Giovanni  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  be  jealous  of  Del  Ferice,  there  would  have  been 
no  fighting." 

"  Have  you  been  telling  your  young  friends  that  my 
wife  was  the  cause  of  all  this  ? "  asked  Astrardente, 
trembling  with  a  genuine  rage  which  lent  a  certain  mo 
mentary  dignity  to  his  feeble  frame  and  painted  face. 

"Why  not?" 


200  SARACINESCA. 

"  Have  you  or  have  you  not  ?  " 

"Certainly — if  you  please,"  returned  Valdarno  inso* 
lently,  enjoying  the  old  man's  fury. 

"Then  permit  me  to  tell  you  that  you  have  taken 
upon  yourself  an  outrageous  liberty,  that  you  have  lied, 
and  that  you  do  not  deserve  to  be  treated  like  a 
gentleman." 

Astrardente  got  upon  his  feet  and  left  the  cafe*  with 
out  further  words.  Valdarno  had  indeed  wounded  him 
in  a  weak  spot,  and  the  wound  was  mortal.  His  blood 
was  up,  and  at  that  moment  he  would  have  faced  Val 
darno  sword  in  hand,  and  might  have  proved  himself  no 
mean  adversary,  so  great  is  the  power  of  anger  to  revive 
in  the  most  decrepit  the  energies  of  youth.  He  believed 
in  his  wife  with  a  rare  sincerity,  and  his  blood  boiled  at 
the  idea  of  her  being  rudely  spoken  of  as  the  cause  of  a 
scandalous  quarrel,  however  much  Valdarno  insisted  upon 
it  that  she  was  as  indifferent  to  Giovanni  as  to  Del 
Ferice.  The  story  was  a  shallow  invention  upon  the 
face  of  it.  But  though  the  old  man  told  himself  so 
again  and  again  as  he  almost  ran  through  the  narrow 
streets  towards  his  house,  there  was  one  thought  sug 
gested  by  Valdarno  which  rankled  deep.  It  was  true 
that  Giovanni  had  last  been  seen  in  the  Astrardente 
box  at  the  opera ;  but  he  had  not  remained  five  minutes 
seated  by  the  Duchessa  before  he  had  suddenly  invented 
a  shallow  excuse  for  leaving ;  and  finally,  there  was  no 
doubt  that  at  that  very  moment  Corona  had  seemed  vio 
lently  agitated.  Giovanni  had  not  reappeared  till  the 
night  of  the  Frangipani  ball,  and  the  duel  had  taken 
place  on  the  very  next  morning.  Astrardente  could  not 
reason — his  mind  was  too  much  disturbed  by  his  anger 
against  Valdarno  ;  but  a  vague  impression  that  there  was 
something  wrong  in  it  all,  drove  him  homewards  in  wild 
excitement.  He  was  ill,  too,  and  had  he  been  in  a  frame 
of  mind  to  reflect  upon  himself,  he  would  have  noticed 
that  his  heart  was  beating  with  ominous  irregularity. 
He  did  not  even  think  of  taking  a  cab,  but  hurried  along 


SAEACINESCA.  201 

on  foot,  finding,  perhaps,  a  momentary  relief  in  violent 
exertion.  The  old  blood  rushed  to  his  face  in  good 
earnest,  and  shamed  the  delicately  painted  lights  and 
shadows  touched  in  by  the  master-hand  of  Monsieur 
Isidore,  the  cosmopolitan  valet. 

Valdarno  remained  seated  in  the  cafe,  rather  disturbed 
at  what  he  had  done.  He  certainly  had  had  no  intention 
of  raising  such  a  storm ;  he  was  a  weak  and  good-natured 
fellow,  whose  vanity  was  easily  wounded,  but  who  was  not 
otherwise  very  sensitive,  and  was  certainly  not  very  intel 
ligent.  Astrardente  had  laughed  at  him  and  his  friends 
in  a  way  which  touched  him  to  the  quick,  and  with  child 
ish  petulance  he  had  retaliated  in  the  easiest  way  which 
presented  itself.  Indeed  there  was  more  foundation  for 
his  tale  than  Astrardente  would  allow.  At  least  it  was 
true  that  the  story  was  in  the  mouths  of  all  the  gossips 
that  morning,  and  Yaldarno  had  only  repeated  what  he 
had  heard.  He  had  meant  to  annoy  the  old  man ;  he 
had  certainly  not  intended  to  make  him  so  furiously  an 
gry.  As  for  the  deliberate  insult  he  had  received,  it  was 
undoubtedly  very  shocking  to  be  told  that  one  lied  in. 
such  very  plain  terms ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  to  demand 
satisfaction  of  such  an  old  wreck  as  Astrardente  would 
be  ridiculous  in  the  extreme.  Valdarno  was  incapable  of 
very  violent  passion,  and  was  easily  persuaded  that  he 
was  in  the  wrong  when  any  one  contradicted  him  flatly ; 
not  that  he  was  altogether  devoid  of  a  certain  physical 
courage  if  hard  pushed,  but  because  he  was  not  very 
strong,  not  very  confident  of  himself,  not  very  combative, 
and  not  very  truthful.  When  Astrardente  was  gone,  he 
waited  a  few  minutes,  and  then  sauntered  up  the  Corso 
again  towards  the  club,  debating  in  his  mind  how  he 
should  turn  a  good  story  out  of  his  morning's  adventure 
without  making  himself  appear  either  foolish  or  pusillan 
imous.  It  was  also  necessary  so  to  turn  his  narrative  that 
in  case  any  one  repeated  it  to  Giovanni,  the  latter  might 
not  propose  to  cut  his  throat,  though  it  was  not  prob 
able  that  any  one  would  be  bold  enough  to  desire  a  con- 


202  SARACINESCA. 

versation  with  the  younger  Saracinesca  on  such  a  sub 
ject. 

When  he  again  entered  the  smoking-room  of  the  club, 
he  was  greeted  by  a  chorus  of  inquiries  concerning  his 
interview  with  Astrardente. 

"  What  did  he  ask  ?  What  did  he  say  ?  Where  is  he  ? 
What  did  you  tell  him  ?  Did  he  drop  his  eyeglass  ?  Did 
he  blush  through  his  paint  ?  " 

Everybody  spoke  together  in  the  same  breath.  Val- 
darno's  vanity  rose  to  the  occasion.  Weak  and  insignifi 
cant  by  nature,  he  particularly  delighted  in  being  the 
centre  of  general  interest,  if  even  for  a  moment  only. 

"  He  really  dropped  his  eyeglass,"  he  answered,  with 
a  gay  laugh,  "  and  he  really  changed  colour  in  spite  of 
his  paint." 

"It  must  have  been  a  terrible  interview,  then,"  re 
marked  one  or  two  of  the  loungers. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  offer  you  my  services  in  case  you 
wish  to  cut  each  other's  throats,"  said  a  French  officer  of 
the  Papal  Zouaves  who  stood  by  the  fireplace  rolling  a 
cigarette.  Whereupon  everybody  laughed  loudly. 

"Thanks,"  answered  Valdarno  ;  "I  am  expecting  a  chal 
lenge  every  minute.  If  he  proposes  a  powder-puff  and  a 
box  of  rouge  for  the  weapons,  I  accept  without  hesitation. 
Well,  it  was  very  amusing.  He  wanted  to  know  all  about 
it,  and  so  I  told  him  about  the  scene  in  Casa  Frangipani. 
He  did  not  seem  to  understand  at  all.  He  is  a  very 
obtuse  old  gentleman." 

"  I  hope  you  explained  the  connection  of  events,"  said 
some  one. 

"  Indeed  I  did.  It  was  delightful  to  witness  his  fury. 
It  was  then  that  he  dropped  his  eyeglass  and  turned  as 
red  as  a  boiled  lobster.  He  swore  that  his  wife  was 
above  suspicion,  as  usual." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  a  young  man  who  had  attempted 
to  make  love  to  Corona  during  the  previous  year. 

"  Of  course  it  is  true,"  echoed  all  the  rest,  with  una 
nimity  rare  indeed  where  a  woman's  reputation  is  con 
cerned. 


SARACINESCA.  203 

"  Yes,"  continued  Valdarno,  "  of  course.  But  he  goes 
so  far  as  to  say  it  is  absurd  that  any  one  should  admire 
his  wife,  who  is  nevertheless  a  most  admirable  woman. 
He  stamped,  he  screamed,  he  turned  red  in  the  face,  and 
he  went  off  without  taking  leave  of  me,  flourishing  his 
stick,  and  swearing  eternal  hatred  and  vengeance  against 
the  entire  civilised  society  of  the  world.  He  was  delight 
fully  amusing.  Will  anybody  play  baccarat  ?  I  will 
start  a  bank." 

The  majority  were  for  the  game,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
were  seated  at  a  large  green  table,  drawing  cards  and  bet 
ting  with  a  good  will,  and  interspersing  their  play  with 
stray  remarks  on  the  events  of  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Corona  was  fast  coming  to  a  state  of  mind  in  which  a 
kind  of  passive  expectation — a  sort  of  blind  submission  to 
fate — was  the  chief  feature.  She  had  shed  tears  when  her 
husband  spoke  of  his  approaching  end,  because  her  gentle 
heart  was  grateful  to  him,  and  by  its  own  sacrifices  had 
grown  used  to  his  presence,  and  because  she  suddenly  felt 
that  she  had  comprehended  the  depth  of  his  love  for  her, 
as  she  had  never  understood  it  before.  In  the  five  years 
of  married  life  she  had  spent  with  him,  she  had  not  allowed 
herself  to  think  of  his  selfishness,  of  his  small  daily  ego 
tism  ;  for,  though  it  was  at  no  great  expense  to  himself,  he 
had  been  uniformly  generous  and  considerate  to  her.  But 
she  had  been  conscious  that  if  she  should  ever  remove  from 
her  conscience  the  pressure  of  a  self-imposed  censorship,  so 
that  her  judgment  might  speak  boldly,  the  verdict  of  her 
heart  would  not  have  been  so  indulgent  to  her  husband  as 
was  that  formal  opinion  of  him  which  she  forced  herself  to 
hold.  Now,  however,  it  seemed  as  though  the  best  things 
she  had  desired  to  believe  of  him  were  true ;  and  with  the 


204  SAKACINESCA. 

conviction  that  he  was  not  only  not  selfish,  but  absolutely 
devoted  to  herself,  there  had  come  upon  her  a  fear  of  deso^ 
lation,  a  dread  of  being  left  alone — of  finding  herself  aban 
doned  by  this  strange  companion,  the  only  person  in  the 
world  with  whom  she  had  the  habit  of  familiarity  and  the 
bond  of  a  common  past.  Astrardente  had  thought,  and  had 
told  her  too,  that  the  knowledge  of  his  impending  death 
might  lighten  her  burden — might  make  the  days  of  self- 
sacrifice  that  yet  remained  seem  shorter  ;  he  had  spoken 
kindly  of  her  marrying  again  when  he  should  be  dead, 
deeming  perhaps,  in  his  sudden  burst  of  generosity  that 
she  would  be  capable  of  looking  beyond  the  unhappy  pres 
ent  to  the  possibilities  of  a  more  brilliant  future,  or  at  least 
that  the  certainty  of  his  consent  to  such  a  second  union 
would  momentarily  please  her.  It  was  hard  to  say  why  he 
had  spoken.  It  had  been  an  impulse  such  as  the  most  self 
ish  people  sometimes  yield  to  when  their  failing  strength 
brings  upon  them  suddenly  the  sense  of  their  inability  to 
resist  any  longer  the  course  of  events.  The  vanity  of  man 
is  so  amazing  that  when  he  is  past  arrogating  to  himself 
the  attention  which  is  necessary  to  him  as  his  daily  bread, 
he  is  capable  of  so  demeaning  his  manhood  as  to  excite  in 
terest  in  his  weaknesses  rather  than  that  he  should  cease 
to  be  the  object  of  any  interest  whatever.  The  analysis 
of  the  feelings  of  old  and  selfish  persons  is  the  most  diffi 
cult  of  all  studies ;  for  in  proportion  as  the  strength  of  the 
dominant  passion  or  passions  is  quenched  in  the  bitter  still 
waters  of  the  harbour  of  superannuation,  the  small  influ 
ences  of  life  grow  in  importance.  As  when,  from  the 
breaking  surge  of  an  angry  ocean,  the  water  is  dashed  high 
amcng  the  re-echoing  rocks,  leaving  little  pools  of  limpid 
clearness  in  the  hollows  of  the  storm-beaten  cliffs ;  and  as 
when  the  anger  of  the  tossing  waves  has  subsided,  the  hot 
sun  shines  upon  the  mimic  seas,  and  the  clear  waters  that 
were  so  transparent  grow  thick  and  foul  with  the  motion 
of  a  tiny  and  insignificant  insect-life  undreamed  of  before 
in  such  crystal  purity :  so  also  the  clear  strong  sea  of  youth 
is  left  to  dry  in  the  pools  and  puddles  of  old  age,  and  in 


SARACINESCA.  205 

the  motionless  calm  of  the  still  places  where  the  ocean  of 
life  has  washed  it,  it  is  dried  up  and  consumed  by  myriads 
of  tiny  parasites — lives  within  lives,  passions  within  pas« 
sions — tiny  efforts  at  mimic  greatness, — a  restless  little 
world,  the  very  parody  and  infinitesimal  reproduction  of 
the  mighty  flood  whence  it  came,  wherein  great  monsters 
have  their  being,  and  things  of  unspeakable  beauty  grow 
free  in  the  large  depths  of  an  unf athomed  ocean. 

To  Corona  d'Astrardente  in  the  freshness  of  her  youth 
the  study  of  her  husband's  strange  littleness  had  grown 
to  be  a  second  nature  from  the  habit  of  her  devotion  to 
him.  But  she  could  not  understand  him ;  she  could  not 
explain  to  herself  the  sudden  confession  of  old  age,  the 
quiet  anticipation  of  death,  the  inexplicable  generosity 
towards  herself.  She  only  knew  that  he  must  be  at 
heart  a  man  more  kindly  and  of  better  impulse  than  he 
had  generally  been  considered,  and  she  resolved  to  do 
her  utmost  to  repay  him,  and  to  soothe  the  misery  of  his 
last  years. 

Since  he  had  told  her  so  plainly,  it  must  be  true.  It 
was  natural,  perhaps — for  he  was  growing  more  feeble 
every  day — but  it  was  very  sad.  Five  years  ago,  when 
she  had  choked  down  her  loathing  for  the  old  man  to 
whom  she  had  sold  herself  for  her  father's  sake,  she 
would  not  have  believed  that  she  should  one  day  feel  the 
tears  rise  fast  at  the  thought  of  his  dying  and  leaving 
her  free.  He  had  said  it ;  she  would  be  free.  They  say 
that  men  who  have  been  long  confined  in  a  dungeon 
become  indifferent,  and  when  turned  out  upon  the  world 
would  at  first  gladly  return  to  their  prison  walls.  Liberty 
is  in  the  first  place  an  instinct,  but  it  will  easily  grow  to 
be  a  habit.  Corona  had  renounced  all  thought  of  freedom 
five  years  ago,  and  in  the  patient  bowing  of  her  noble  na 
ture  to  the  path  she  had  chosen,  she  had  attained  to  a  state 
of  renunciation  like  that  of  a  man  who  has  buried  himself 
for  ever  in  an  order  of  Trappists,  and  neither  dreams  of 
the  freedom  of  the  outer  world,  nor  desires  to  dream  of 
it.  And  she  had  grown  fond  of  the  aged  dandy  and  his 


206  SABACINBSCA. 

foolish  ways — ways  which,  seemed  foolish  because  they 
were  those  of  youth  grafted  upon  senility.  She  had  not 
known  that  she  was  fond  of  him,  it  is  true ;  but  now  that 
he  spoke  of  dying,  she  felt  that  she  would  weep  his  loss. 
He  was  her  only  companion,  her  only  friend.  In  the 
loyal  determination  to  be  faithful  to  him,  she  had  so  shut 
herself  from  all  intimacy  with  the  world  that  she  had 
not  a  friend.  She  kept  women  at  a  distance  from  her, 
instinctively  dreading  lest  in  their  careless  talk  some 
hint  or  comment  should  remind  her  that  she  had  mar 
ried  a  man  ridiculous  in  their  eyes ;  and  with  men  she 
could  have  but  little  intercourse,  for  their  society  was 
dangerous.  No  man  save  G-iovanni  Saracinesca  had  for 
years  put  himself  in  the  light  of  a  mere  acquaintance, 
always  ready  to  talk  to  her  upon  general  subjects,  studi 
ously  avoiding  himself  in  all  discussions,  and  delicately 
nattering  her  vanity  by  his  deference  to  her  judgment. 
The  other  men  had  generally  spoken  of  love  at  the  sec 
ond  meeting,  and  declared  themselves  devoted  to  her  for 
life  at  the  end  of  a  week :  she  had  quietly  repulsed  them, 
and  they  had  dropped  back  into  the  position  of  indifferent 
acquaintances,  going  in  search  of  other  game,  after  the 
manner  of  young  gentlemen  of  leisure.  Giovanni  alone 
had  sternly  maintained  his  air  of  calmness,  had  never 
offended  her  simple  pride  of  loyalty  to  Astrardente  by 
word  or  deed  ;  so  that,  although  she  felt  and  dreaded  her 
growing  interest  in  him,  she  had  actually  believed  that 
he  was  nothing  in  her  life,  until  at  last  she  had  been  un 
deceived  and  awakened  to  the  knowledge  of  his  fierce  pas 
sion,  and  being  taken  unawares,  had  nearly  been  carried 
off  her  feet  by  the  tempest  his  words  had  roused  in  her 
own  breast.  But  her  strength  had  not  utterly  deserted 
her.  Years  of  supreme  devotion  to  the  right,  of  honest 
and  unwavering  loyalty,  neither  deceiving  her  conscience 
on  the  one  hand  with  the  morbid  food  of  a  fictitious  re 
ligious  exaltation,  nor,  upon  the  other,  sinking  to  a  cynical 
indifference  to  inevitable  misery ;  days  of  quiet  and  con 
stant  effort ;  long  hours  of  thoughtful  meditation  upon 


SARACINESCA.  207 

the  one  resolution  of  her  life, — all  this  had  strengthened 
the  natural  force  of  her  character,  so  that,  when  at  last 
the  great  trial  had  come,  she  had  not  yielded,  but  had 
conquered  once  and  for  ever,  in  the  very  moment  of 
sorest  temptation.  And  with  her  there  would  be  no  re 
turn  of  the  danger.  Having  found  strength  to  resist, 
she  knew  that  there  would  be  no  more  weakness ;  her 
love  for  Giovanni  was  deep  and  sincere,  but  it  had  be 
come  now  the  chief  cause  of  suffering  in  her  life ;  it  had 
utterly  ceased  to  be  the  chief  element  of  joy,  as  it  had 
been  for  a  few  short  days.  It  was  one  thing  more  to  be 
borne,  and  it  outweighed  all  other  cares. 

The  news  of  the  duel  had  given  her  great  distress. 
She  believed  honestly  that  she  was  in  no  way  concerned 
in  it,  and  she  had  bitterly  resented  old  Saracinesca's  im 
putation.  In  the  hot  words  that  had  passed  between 
them,  she  had  felt  her  anger  rise  justly  against  the  old 
Prince ;  but  when  he  appealed  to  her  on  account  of  his 
son,  her  love  for  Giovanni  had  vanquished  her  wrath 
against  the  old  man.  Come  what  might,  she  would  do 
what  was  best  for  him.  If  possible,  she  would  induce 
him  to  leave  Eome  at  once,  and  thus  free  herself  from  the 
pain  of  constantly  meeting  him.  Perhaps  she  could  make 
him  marry — anything  would  be  better  than  to  allow 
things  to  go  on  in  their  present  course,  to  have  to 
face  him  at  every  turn,  and  to  know  that  at  any  moment 
he  might  be  quarrelling  with  somebody  and  fighting 
duels  on  her  account. 

She  went  boldly  into  the  world  that  night,  not  know 
ing  whether  she  should  meet  Giovanni  or  not,  but  re 
solved  upon  her  course  if  he  appeared.  Many  people 
looked  curiously  at  her,  and  smiled  cunningly  as  they 
thought  they  detected  traces  of  care  upon  her  proud  face ; 
but  though  they  studied  her,  and  lost  no  opportunity  of 
talking  to  her  upon  the  one  topic  which  absorbed  the 
general  conversation,  no  one  had  the  satisfaction  of  mov 
ing  her  even  so  much  as  to  blush  a  little,  or  to  lower  the 
gaze  of  her  eyes  that  looked  them  all  indifferently 
through  and  through. 


.208  SAKACINESCA. 

Giovanni,  however,  did  not  appear,  and  people  told  her 
he  would  not  leave  his  room  for  several  days,  so  that  she 
returned  to  her  home  without  having  accomplished  any 
thing  in  the  matter.  Her  husband  was  very  silent,  but 
looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  uncertainty,  as  though 
hesitating  to  speak  to  her  upon  some  subject  that  absorbed 
his  interest.  Neither  of  them  referred  to  the  strange 
interview  of  the  previous  night.  They  went  home  early, 
as  has  been  already  recorded,  seeing  it  was  only  a  great 
and  formal  reception  to  which  the  world  went  that  night; 
and  even  the  toughest  old  society  jades  were  weary  from 
the  ball  of  the  day  before,  which  had  not  broken  up  until 
half-past  six  in  the  morning. 

On  the  next  day,  at  about  twelve  o'clock,  Corona  was 
sitting  in  her  boudoir  writing  a  number  of  invitations 
which  were  to  be  distributed  in  the  afternoon,  when  the 
door  opened  and  her  husband  entered  the  room. 

"  My  dear,"  he  cried  in  great  excitement,  "  it  is  per 
fectly  horrible  !  Have  you  heard  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Corona,  laying  down  her  pen. 

"  Spicca  has  killed  Casalverde — the  man  who  seconded 
Del  Ferice  yesterday, — killed  him  on  the  spot " 

Corona  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror. 

"And  they  say  Del  Ferice  is  dead,  or  just  dying" — 
his  cracked  voice  rose  at  every  word ;  "  and  they  say,"  he 
almost  screamed,  laying  his  withered  hand  roughly  upon 
his  wife's  shoulder, — "  they  say  that  the  duel  was  about 
you — you,  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  That  is  not  true,"  said  Corona,  firmly.  "  Calm  your 
self — I  beseech  you  to  be  calm.  Tell  me  connectedly 
what  has  happened — who  told  you  this  story." 

"  What  right  has  any  man  to  drag  your  name  into  a 
quarrel  ?  "  cried  the  old  man,  hoarsely.  "  Everybody  is 
saying  it — it  is  outrageous,  abominable " 

Corona  quietly  pushed  her  husband  into  a  chair,  and 
sat  down  beside  him. 

"  You  are  excited — you  will  harm  yourself, — remember 
your  health,"  she  said,  endeavouring  to  soothe  him. 


SARACINESCA.  209 

"  Tell  me,  in  the  first  place,  who  told  you  that  it  was 
about  me." 

"  Valdarno  told  me ;  he  told  me  that  every  one  was 
saying  it — that  it  was  the  talk  of  the  town." 

"  But  why  ?  "  insisted  Corona.  "  You  allow  yourself 
to  be  furious  for  the  sake  of  a  piece  of  gossip  which  has 
no  foundation  whatever.  What  is  the  story  they  tell  ?  " 

"  Some  nonsense  about  Giovanni  Saracinesca' s  going 
away  last  week.  Del  Ferice  proposed  to  call  him  before 
you,  and  Giovanni  was  angry." 

"  That  is  absurd,"  said  Corona.  "  Don  Giovanni  was 
not  the  least  annoyed.  He  was  with  me  afterwards — —" 

"  Always  Giovanni !  Always  Giovanni  !  Wherever 
you  go,  it  is  Giovanni !  "  cried  the  old  man,  in  unreason 
able  petulance — unreasonable  from  his  point  of  view, 
reasonable  enough  had  he  known  the  truth.  But  he 
struck  unconsciously  upon  the  key-note  of  all  Corona's 
troubles,  and  she  turned  pale  to  the  lips. 

"  You  say  it  is  not  true,"  he  began  again.  "  How  do 
you  know?  How  can  you  tell  what  may  have  been 
said  ?  How  can  you  guess  it  ?  Giovanni  Saracinesca  is 
about  you  in  society  more  than  any  one.  He  has  quar 
relled  about  you,  and  two  men  have  lost  their  lives  in 
consequence.  He  is  in  love  with  you,  I  tell  you.  Can 
you  not  see  it  ?  You  must  be  blind ! " 

Corona  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  utterly  overcome  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  situation,  unable  to  answer,  her 
hands  folded  tightly  together,  her  pale  lips  compressed. 
Angry  at  her  silence,  old  Astrardente  continued,  his  rage 
gradually  getting  the  mastery  of  his  sense,  and  his  pas 
sion  working  itself  up  to  the  pitch  of  madness. 

"  Blind — yes — positively  blind ! "  he  cried.  "  Do  you 
think  that  I  am  blind  too  ?  Do  you  think  I  will  overlook 
all  this  ?  Do  you  not  see  that  your  reputation  is  injured 
— that  people  associate  your  name  with  his — that  no 
woman  can  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  Gio 
vanni  Saracinesca  and  hope  to  maintain  a  fair  fame  ?  A 
fellow  whose  adventures  are  in  everybody's  mouth,  whose 


210  SARACINESCA. 

doings  are  notorious ;  who  has  but  to  look  at  a  woman  to 
destroy  her ;  who  is  a  duellist,  a  libertine " 

"  That  is  not  true,"  interrupted  Corona,  unable  to  listen 
calmly  to  the  abuse  thus  heaped  upon  the  man  she  so 
dearly  loved.  "  You  are  mad " 

"  You  defend  him ! "  screamed  Astrardente,  leaning  far 
forward  in  his  chair  and  clenching  his  hands.  "You  dare 
to  support  him — you  acknowledge  that  you  care  for  him ! 
Does  he  not  pursue  you  everywhere,  so  that  the  town  rings 
with  it  ?  You  ought  to  long  to  be  rid  of  him,  to  wish  he 
were  dead,  rather  than  allow  his  name  to  be  breathed  with 
yours ;  and  instead,  you  defend  him  to  me — you  say  he  is 
right,  that  you  prefer  his  odious  devotion  to  your  good 
name,  to  my  good  name !  Oh,  it  is  not  to  be  believed ! 
If  you  loved  him  yourself  you  could  not  do  worse ! " 

"  If  half  you  say  were  true "  said  Corona,  in  terri 
ble  distress. 

"  True  ?  "  cried  Astrardente,  who  would  not  brook  in 
terruption.  "  It  is  all  true — and  more  also.  It  is  true 
that  he  loves  you,  true  that  all  the  world  says  it,  true — 
by  all  that  is  holy,  from  your  face  I  would  almost  believe 
that  you  do  love  him !  Why  do  you  not  deny  it  ?  Mis 
erable  woman ! "  he  screamed,  springing  towards  her  and 
seizing  her  roughly  by  the  arm,  as  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands.  "  Miserable  woman !  you  have  betrayed  me " 

In  the  paroxysm  of  his  rage  the  feeble  old  man  became 
almost  strong ;  his  grip  tightened  upon  his  wife's  wrist, 
and  he  dragged  her  violently  from  her  seat. 

"Betrayed!  And  by  you!"  he  cried  again,  shaking 
with  passion.  "  You  whom  I  have  loved !  This  is  your 
gratitude,  your  sanctified  devotion,  your  cunning  pre 
tence  at  patience !  All  to  hide  your  love  for  such  a  man 
as  that !  You  hypocrite,  you " 

By  a  sudden  effort  Corona  shook  off  his  grasp,  and 
drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height  in  magnificent  anger. 

"You  shall  hear  me,"  she  said,  in  deep  commanding 
tones.  "  I  have  deserved  much,  but  I  have  not  deserved 
this." 


SABACINESCA .  211 

"Ha!"  he  hissed,  standing  back  from  her  a  step,  "you 
can  speak  now — I  have  touched  you !  You  have  found 
words.  It  was  time  ! " 

•  Corona  was  as  white  as  death,  and  her  black  eyes  shone 
like  coals  of  fire.  Her  words  came  slowly,  every  accent 
clear  and  strong  with  concentrated  passion. 

"I  have  not  betrayed  you.  I  have  spoken  no  word  of 
love  to  any  man  alive,  and  you  know  that  I  speak  the 
truth.  If  any  one  has  said  to  me  what  should  not  be  said, 
I  have  rebuked  him  to  silence.  You  know,  while  you 
accuse  me,  that  I  have  done  my  best  to  honour  and  love 
you ;  you  know  well  that  I  would  die  by  my  own  hand, 
your  loyal  and  true  wife,  rather  than  let  my  lips  utter  one 
syllable  of  love  for  any  other  man." 

Corona  possessed  a  supreme  power  over  her  husband. 
She  was  so  true  a  woman  that  the  truth  blazed  visibly 
from  her  clear  eyes ;  and  what  she  said  was  nothing  but 
the  truth.  She  had  doubted  it  herself  for  one  dreadful 
moment;  she  knew  it  now  beyond  all  doubting.  In  a 
moment  the  old  man's  wrath  broke  and  vanished  before 
the  strong  assertion  of  her  perfect  innocence.  He  turned 
pale  under  his  paint,  and  his  limbs  trembled.  He  made 
a  step  forward,  and  fell  upon  his  knees  before  her,  and 
tried  to  take  her  hands. 

"Oh,  Corona,  forgive  me,"  he  moaned — "forgive  me!  I 
so  love  you  !  " 

Suddenly  his  grasp  relaxed  from  her  hands,  and  with  a 
groan  he  fell  forward  against  her  knees. 

"  God  knows  I  forgive  you ! "  cried  Corona,  the  tears 
starting  to  her  eyes  in  sudden  pity.  She  bent  down  to 
support  him ;  but  as  she  moved,  he  fell  prostrate  upon  his 
face  before  her.  With  a  cry  of  terror  she  kneeled  beside 
him ;  with  her  strong  arms  she  turned  his  body  and  raised 
his  head  upon  her  knees.  His  face  was  ghastly  white, 
save  where  the  tinges  of  paint  made  a  hideous  mockery 
of  colour  upon  his  livid  skin.  His  parted  lips  were 
faintly  purple,  and  his  hollow  eyes  stared  wide  open  at 
his  wife's  face,  while  the  curled  wig  was  thrust  far  back 
upon  his  bald  and  wrinkled  forehead. 


212  SABACINESCA. 

Corona  supported  his  weight  upon  one  knee,  and  tool* 
his  nerveless  hand  in  hers.  An  agony  of  terror  seized 
her. 

"  Onofrio  ! "  she  cried — she  rarely  called  him  by  his 
name — "  Onofrio  !  speak  to  me  I  My  husband ! "  She 
clasped  him  wildly  in  her  arms.  "0  God,  have  mercy !" 

Onofrio  d'Astrardente  was  dead.  The  poor  old  dandy, 
in  his  paint  and  his  wig  and  his  padding,  had  died  at  his 
wife's  feet,  protesting  his  love  for  her  to  the  last.  The 
long  averted  blow  had  fallen.  For  years  he  had  guarded 
himself  against  sudden  emotions,  for  he  was  warned  of 
the  disease  at  his  heart,  and  knew  his  danger ;  but  his 
anger  had  killed  him.  He  might  have  lived  another 
hour  while  his  rage  lasted ;  but  the  revulsion  of  feeling, 
the  sudden  repentance  for  the  violence  he  had  done 
his  wife,  had  sent  the  blood  back  to  its  source  too 
quickly,  and  with  his  last  cry  of  love  upon  his  lips  he 
was  dead. 

Corona  had  hardly  ever  seen  death.  She  gently  lowered 
the  dead  man's  weight  till  he  lay  at  full  length  upon  the 
floor.  Then  she  started  to  her  feet,  and  drew  back  against 
the  fireplace,  and  gazed  at  the  body  of  her  husband. 

For  fully  five  minutes  she  stood  motionless,  scarcely 
daring  to  draw  breath,  dazed  and  stupefied  with  horror, 
trying  to  realise  what  had  happened.  There  he  lay,  her 
only  friend,  the  companion  of  her  life  since  she  had 
known  life ;  the  man  who  in  that  very  room,  but  two 
nights  since,  had  spoken  such  kind  words  to  her  that  her 
tears  had  flowed — the  tears  that  would  not  flow  now;  the 
man  who  but  a  moment  since  was  railing  at  her  in  a 
paroxysm  of  rage — whose  anger  had  melted  at  her  first 
word  of  defence,  who  had  fallen  at  her  feet  to  ask  for 
giveness,  and  to  declare  once  more,  for  the  last  time,  that 
he  loved  her !  Her  friend,  her  companion,  her  husband 
— had  he  heard  her  answer,  that  she  forgave  him  freely  ? 
He  could  not  be  dead — it  was  impossible.  A  moment 
ago  he  had  been  speaking  to  her.  She  went  forward 
again  and  kneeled  beside  him. 


SABACIKESCA.  218 

"  Onofrio,"  she  said  very  gently,  "  yon  are  not  dead — • 
you  heard  me  ?  " 

She  gazed  down  for  a  moment  at  the  motionless  features. 
Womanly  thoughtful,  she  moved  his  head  a  little,  and 
straightened  the  wig  upon  his  poor  forehead.  Then,  in 
an  instant,  she  realised  all,  and  with  a  wild  cry  of  de 
spair  fell  prostrate  upon  his  body  in  an  agony  of  passion 
ate  weeping.  How  long  she  lay,  she  knew  not.  A  knock 
at  the  door  did  not  reach  her  ears,  nor  another  and  another, 
at  short  intervals ;  and  then  some  one  entered.  It  was 
the  butler,  who  had  come  to  announce  the  mid-day  break 
fast.  He  uttered  an  exclamation  and  started  back,  hold 
ing  the  handle  of  the  door  in  his  hand. 

Corona  raised  herself  slowly  to  her  knees,  gazing  down 
once  more  upon  the  dead  man's  face.  Then  she  lifted 
her  streaming  eyes  and  saw  the  servant. 

"  Your  master  is  dead,"  she  said,  solemnly. 

The  man  grew  pale  and  trembled,  hesitated,  and  then 
turned  and  fled  down  the  hall  without,  after  the  manner 
of  Italian  servants,  who  fear  death,  and  even  the  sight  of 
it,  as  they  fear  nothing  else  in  the  world. 

Corona  rose  to  her  feet  and  brushed  the  tears  from  her 
eyes.  Then  she  turned  and  rang  the  bell.  No  one  an 
swered  the  summons  for  some  time.  The  news  had  spread 
all  over  the  house  in  an  instant,  and  everything  was  dis 
organised.  At  last  a  woman  came  and  stood  timidly  at 
the  door.  She  was  a  lower  servant,  a  simple  strong  crea 
ture  from  the  mountains.  Seeing  the  others  terrified  and 
paralysed,  it  had  struck  her  common-sense  that  her  mis 
tress  was  alone.  Corona  understood. 

"  Help  me  to  carry  him,"  she  said,  quietly ;  and  the 
peasant  and  the  noble  lady  stooped  and  lifted  the  dead 
duke,  and  bore  him  to  his  chamber  without  a  word,  and 
laid  him  tenderly  upon  his  bed. 

"  Send  for  the  doctor,"  said  Corona ;  "  I  will  watch 
beside  him." 

"  But,  Excellency,  are  you  not  afraid  ? "   asked  the 

woman. 
Vol.  10—10 


214  SARACINESCA. 

Corona's  lip  curled  a  little. 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  answered.  "  Send  at  once." 
When  the  woman  was  gone,  she  sat  down  by  the  bedside 
and  waited.  Her  tears  were  dry  now,  but  she  could  not 
think.  She  waited  motionless  for  an  hour.  Then  the  old 
physician  entered  softly,  while  a  crowd  of  servants  stood 
without,  peering  timidly  through  the  open  door.  Corona 
crossed  the  room  and  quietly  shut  it.  The  physician 
stood  by  the  bedside. 

"It  is  simple  enough,  Signora  Duchessa,"  he  said, 
gently.  "  He  is  quite  dead.  It  was  only  the  day  before 
yesterday  that  I  warned  him  that  the  heart  disease  was 
worse.  Can  you  tell  me  how  it  happened  ?  " 

"Yes,  exactly,'3  answered  Corona,  in  a  low  voice.  She 
was  calm  enough  now.  "  He  came  into  my  room  two 
hours  ago,  and  suddenly,  in  conversation,  he  became  very 
angry.  Then  his  anger  subsided  in  a  moment,  and  he 
fell  at  my  feet." 

"It  is  just  as  I  expected,"  answered  the  physician, 
quietly.  "  They  always  die  in  this  way.  I  entreat  you 
to  be  calm — to  consider  that  all  men  are  mortal " 

"I  am  calm  now,"  interrupted  Corona.  "I  am  alone. 
Will  you  see  that  what  is  necessary  is  done  quickly  ?  I 
will  leave  you  for  a  moment.  There  are  people  outside." 

As  she  opened  the  door  the  gaping  crowd  of  servants 
slunk  out  of  her  way.  With  bent  head  she  passed  be 
tween  them,  and  went  out  into  the  great  reception-rooms, 
and  sat  down  alone  in  her  grief. 

It  was  genuine,  of  its  kind.  The  poor  man's  soul  might 
rest  in  peace,  for  she  felt  the  real  sorrow  at  his  death 
which  he  had  longed  for,  which  he  had  perhaps  scarcely 
dared  to  hope  she  would  feel.  Had  it  not  been  real,  in 
those  first  moments  some  thought  would  have  crossed  her 
mind — some  faint,  repressed  satisfaction  at  being  free  at 
last — free  to  marry  Giovanni  Saracinesca.  But  it  was 
not  so.  She  did  not  feel  free — she  felt  alone,  intensely 
alone.  She  longed  for  the  familiar  sound  of  his  queru 
lous  voice — for  the  expression  of  his  thousand  little 


SARACINESCA.  215 

wants  and  interests;  she  remembered  tenderly  his  harm 
less  little  vanities.  She  thought  of  his  wig,  and  she 
wept.  So  true  it  is  that  what  is  most  ridiculous  in  life 
is  most  sorrowfully  pathetic  in  death.  There  was  not 
one  of  the  small  things  about  him  she  did  not  recall  with 
a  pang  of  regret.  It  was  all  over  now.  His  vanity  was 
dead  with  him ;  his  tender  love  for  her  was  dead  too.  It 
was  the  only  love  she  had  known,  until  that  other  love — 
that  dark  and  stirring  passion — had  been  roused  in  her. 
But  that  did  not  trouble  her  now.  Perhaps  the  uncon 
scious  sense  that  henceforth  she  was  free  to  love  whom 
she  pleased  had  suddenly  made  insignificant  a  feeling 
which  had  before  borne  in  her  mind  the  terrible  name  of 
crime.  The  struggle  for  loyalty  was  no  more,  but  the 
memory  of  what  she  had  borne  for  the  dead  man  made 
him  dearer  than  before.  The  follies  of  his  life  had  been 
many,  but  many  of  them  had  been  for  her,  and  there  was 
the  true  ring  in  his  last  words.  "  To  be  young  for  your 
sake,  Corona — for  your  sake  ! "  The  phrase  echoed  again 
and  again  in  her  remembrance,  and  her  silent  tears  flowed 
afresh.  The  follies  of  his  life  had  been  many,  but  to 
her  he  had  been  true.  The  very  violence  of  his  last 
moments,  the  tenderness  of  his  passionate  appeal  for 
forgiveness,  spoke  for  the  honesty  of  his  heart,  even 
though  his  heart  had  never  been  honest  before. 

She  needed  never  to  think  again  of  pleasing  him,  of 
helping  him,  of  foregoing  for  his  sake  any  intimacy  with 
the  world  which  she  might  desire.  But  the  thought 
brought  no  relief.  He  had  become  so  much  a  part  of  her 
life  that  she  could  not  conceive  of  living  without  him, 
and  she  would  miss  him  at  every  turn.  The  new  exist 
ence  before  her  seemed  dismal  and  empty  beyond  all  ex 
pression.  She  wondered  vaguely  what  she  should  do 
with  her  time.  For  one  moment  a  strange  longing  came 
over  her  to  return  to  the  dear  old  convent,  to  lay  aside 
for  ever  her  coronet  and  state,  and  in  a  simple  garb  to  do 
simple  and  good  things  to  the  honour  of  God. 

She  roused  herself  at  last,  and  went  to  her  own  rooms, 


216  SAEACINESCA. 

dragging  her  steps  slowly  as  though  weighed  down  by  a 
heavy  burden.  She  entered  the  room  where  he  had  died, 
and  a  cold  shudder  passed  over  her.  The  afternoon  sun 
was  streaming  through  the  window  upon  the  writing, 
table  where  yet  lay  the  unfinished  invitation  she  had 
been  writing,  and  upon  the  plants  and  the  rich  orna 
ments,  upon  the  heavy  carpet — the  very  spot  where  he 
had  breathed  his  last  word  of  love  and  died  at  her  feet. 

Upon  that  spot  Corona  d'Astrardente  knelt  down  rever 
ently  and  prayed, — prayed  that  she  might  be  forgiven 
for  all  her  shortcomings  to  the  dear  dead  man ;  that  she 
might  have  strength  to  bear  her  sorrow  and  to  honour 
his  memory ;  above  all,  that  his  soul  might  rest  in  peace 
and  find  forgiveness,  and  that  he  might  know  that  she 
had  been  truly  innocent — she  prayed  for  that  too,  for 
she  had  a  dreadful  doubt.  But  surely  he  knew  all  now : 
how  she  had  striven  to  be  loyal,  and  how  truly — yes, 
how  truly — she  mourned  his  death. 

At  last  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  lingered  still  a  moment, 
her  hands  clasped  as  they  had  been  in  her  prayer. 
Glancing  down,  something  glistened  on  the  carpet.  She 
stooped  and  picked  it  up.  It  was  her  husband's  seal- 
ring,  engraven  with  the  ancient  arms  of  the  Astrardente. 
She  looked  long  at  the  jewel,  and  then  put  it  upon  her 
finger. 

"  God  give  me  grace  to  honour  his  memory  as  he  would 
have  me  honour  it,"  she  said,  solemnly. 

Truly,  she  had  deserved  the  love  the  poor  old  dandy 
had  so  deeply  felt  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

That  night  Giovanni  insisted  on  going  out.  His 
wounds  no  longer  pained  him,  he  said;  there  was  no 
danger  whatever,  and  he  was  tired  of  staying  at  home. 
But  he  would  dine  with  his  father  as  usual.  He  loved 


SABACINESCA.  217 

his  father's  company,  and  when  the  two  omitted  to  quar 
rel  over  trifles  they  were  very  congenial.  To  tell  the 
truth,  the  differences  between  them  arose  generally  from 
the  petulant  quickness  of  the  Prince ;  for  in  his  son  his 
own  irascible  character  was  joined  with  the  melancholy 
gravity  which  Giovanni  inherited  from  his  mother,  and 
in  virtue  of  which,  being  taciturn,  he  was  sometimes 
thought  long-suffering. 

As  usual,  they  sat  opposite  each  other,  and  the  ancient 
butler  Pasquale  served  them.  As  the  man  deposited 
Giovanni's  soup  before  him,  he  spoke.  A  certain  liberty 
was  always  granted  to  Pasquale ;  Italian  servants  are 
members  of  the  family,  even  in  princely  houses.  Never 
assuming  that  confidence  implies  familiarity,  they  enjoy 
the  one  without  ever  approaching  the  latter.  Neverthe 
less  it  was  very  rarely  that  Pasquale  spoke  to  his  masters 
when  they  were  at  table. 

"I  beg  your  Excellencies'  pardon "  he  began,  as 

he  put  down  the  soup-plate. 

"  Well,  Pasquale  ? "  asked  old  Saracinesca,  looking 
sharply  at  the  old  servant  from  under  his  heavy  brows. 

"  Have  your  Excellencies  heard  the  news  ?  " 

"  What  news  ?     No,"  returned  the  Prince. 

"  The  Duca  d'Astrardente " 

"Well,  what  of  him  ?" 

"Is  dead.'* 

"Dead!"  repeated  Giovanni  in  a  loud  voice,  that 
echoed  to  the  vaulted  roof  of  the  dining-room. 

"It  is  not  true,"  said  old  Saracinesca;  "I  saw  him  in 
the  street  this  morning." 

"Nevertheless,  your  Excellency,"  replied  Pasquale, 
"it  is  quite  true.  The  gates  of  the  palace  were  already 
draped  with  black  before  the  Ave  Maria  this  evening; 
and  the  porter,  who  is  a  nephew  of  mine,  had  cr£pe  upon 
his  hat  and  arm.  He  told  me  that  the  Duca  fell  down 
dead  of  a  stroke  in  the  Signora  Duchessa's  room  at  half- 
past  twelve  to-day." 

"  Is  that  all  you  could  learn  ? ';  asked  the  Prince. 


218      %  SARACINESCA. 

"  Except  that  the  Signora  Duchessa  was  overcome  with 
grief,"  returned  the  servant,  gravely. 

"  I  should  think  so — her  husband  dead  of  an  apoplexy ! 
It  is  natural,"  said  the  Prince,  looking  at  Giovanni.  The 
latter  was  silent,  and  tried  to  eat  as  though  nothing  had 
happened — inwardly  endeavouring  not  to  rejoice  too 
madly  at  the  terrible  catastrophe.  In  his  effort  to  con 
trol  his  features,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  forehead,  and 
his  hand  trembled  violently.  His  father  saw  it,  but 
made  no  remark. 

"  Poor  Astrardente  ! "  he  said.  "  He  was  not  so  bad  as 
people  thought  him." 

"  No,"  replied  Giovanni,  with  a  great  effort ;  "  he  was 
a  very  good  man." 

"  I  should  hardly  say  that,"  returned  his  father,  with 
a  grim  smile  of  amusement.  "  I  do  not  think  that  by 
the  greatest  stretch  of  indulgence  he  could  be  called 
good." 

"And  why  not?"  asked  the  younger  man,  sharply 
snatching  at  any  possible  discussion  in  order  to  conceal 
his  embarrassment. 

"  Why  not,  indeed !  Why,  because  he  had  a  goodly 
share  of  original  sin,  to  which  he  added  others  of  his 
own  originating  but  having  an  equal  claim  to  originality." 

"  I  say  I  think  he  was  a  very  good  man,"  repeated  Gio 
vanni,  maintaining  his  point  with  an  air  of  conviction. 

"  If  that  is  your  conception  of  goodness,  it  is  no  wonder 
that  you  have  not  attained  to  sanctity,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  sneer. 

"  It  pleases  you  to  be  witty,"  answered  his  son.  "  As 
trardente  did  not  gamble  j  he  had  no  vices  of  late.  He 
was  kind  to  his  wife." 

"No  vices — no.  He  did  not  steal  like  a  fraudulent 
bank-clerk,  nor  try  to  do  murder  like  Del  Eerice.  He 
did  not  deceive  his  wife,  nor  starve  her  to  death.  He  had 
therefore  no  vices.  He  was  a  good  man." 

"  Let  us  leave  poor  Del  Ferice  alone,"  said  Giovanni. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  pity  him  now,"  replied  the  Prince, 


SABACINESCA.  219 

sarcastically.  "  You  will  talk  differently  if  he  dies  and 
you  have  to  leave  the  country  at  a  moment's  notice,  like 
Spicca  this  morning." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  Del  Ferice  died.  I  should 
never  recover  from  it.  I  am  not  a  professional  duellist 
like  Spicca.  And  yet  Casalverde  deserved  his  death.  I 
can  quite  understand  that  Del  Ferice  might  in  the  excite 
ment  of  the  moment  have  lunged  at  me  after  the  halt  was 
cried,  but  I  cannot  understand  how  Casalverde  could  be 
so  infamous  as  not  to  cross  his  sword  when  he  himself 
called.  It  looked  very  much  like  a  preconcerted  arrange 
ment.  Casalverde  deserved  to  die,  for  the  safety  of  soci 
ety.  I  should  think  that  Kome  had  had  enough  of  duelling 
for  a  while." 

"  Yes ;  but  after  all,  Casalverde  did  not  count  for  much. 
I  am  not  sure  I  ever  saw  the  fellow  before  in  my  life. 
And  I  suppose  Del  Ferice  will  recover.  There  was  a 
story  this  morning  that  he  was  dead ;  but  I  went  and 
inquired  myself,  and  found  that  he  was  better.  People 
are  much  shocked  at  this  second  duel.  Well,  it  could 
not  be  helped.  Poor  old  Astrardente !  So  we  shall  never 
see  his  wig  again  at  every  ball  and  theatre  and  supper- 
party  !  There  was  a  man  who  enjoyed  his  life  to  the 
very  end ! " 

"  I  should  not  call  it  enjoyment  to  be  built  up  every 
day  by  one's  valet,  like  a  card-house,  merely  to  tumble  to 
pieces  again  when  the  pins  are  taken  out,"  said  Giovanni. 

"  You  do  not  seem  so  enthusiastic  in  his  defence  as  you 
were  a  few  minutes  ago,"  said  the  Prince,  with  a  smile. 

Giovanni  was  so  much  disturbed  at  the  surprising  news 
that  he  hardly  knew  what  he  said.  He  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  be  sensible. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  moral  goodness  and  personal 
appearance  are  two  things,"  he  said,  oracularly.  The 
Prince  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Most  people  would  say  that !  Eat  your  dinner,  Gio 
vanni,  and  do  not  talk  such  arrant  nonsense." 

"  Why  is  it  nonsense  ?  Because  you  do  not  agree  with 
me?" 


220  SAKACINESCA. 

"Because  you  are  too  much  excited  to  talk  sensibly," 
said  his  father.  "  Do  you  think  I  cannot  see  it  ?  " 

Giovanni  was  silent  for  a  time.  He  was  angry  at  his 
father  for  detecting  the  cause  of  his  vagueness,  but  he 
supposed  there  was  no  help  for  it.  At  last  Pasquale  left 
the  room.  Old  Saracinesca  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"And  now,  Giovannino,"  he  said  familiarly,  "what 
have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  ?  "  asked  his  son,  in  some  surprise. 

"  You !     What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

11 1  will  stay  at  home,"  said  Giovanni,  shortly. 

"  That  is  not  the  question.  You  are  wise  to  stay  at 
home,  because  you  ought  to  get  yourself  healed  of  that 
scratch.  Giovanni,  the  Astrardente  is  now  a  widow." 

"  Seeing  that  her  husband  is  dead — of  course.  There 
is  vast  ingenuity  in  your  deduction,"  returned  the  younger 
man,  eyeing  his  father  suspiciously. 

"  Do  not  be  an  idiot,  Giovannino.  I  mean,  that  as  she 
is  a  widow,  I  have  no  objection  to  your  marrying  her." 

"Good  God,  sir!"  cried  Giovanni,  "what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"What  I  say.  She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
Kome.  She  is  one  of  the  best  women  I  know.  She  will 
have  a  sufficient  jointure.  Marry  her.  You  will  never 
be  happy  with  a  silly  little  girl  just  out  of  a  convent. 
You  are  not  that  sort  of  man.  The  Astrardente  is  not 
three-and-twenty,  but  she  has  had  five  years  of  the 
world,  and  she  has  stood  the  test  well.  I  shall  be  proud 
to  call  her  my  daughter." 

In  his  excitement  Giovanni  sprang  from  his  seat,  and 
rushing  to  his  father's  side,  threw  his  arms  round  his 
neck  and  embraced  him.  He  had  never  done  such  a 
thing  in  his  life.  Then  he  remained  standing,  and  grew 
suddenly  thoughtful. 

"It  is  heartless  of  us  to  talk  in  this  way,"  he  said. 
"  The  poor  man  is  not  buried  yet." 

"My  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  Prince,  "Astrardente  is 
dead.  He  hated  me,  and  was  beginning  to  hate  you,  I 


SAKACINESCA.  221 

fancy.  We  were  neither  of  us  his  friends,  at  any  rate. 
We  do  not  rejoice  at  his  death ;  we  merely  regard  it  in 
the  light  of  an  event  which  modifies  our  immediate  fu 
ture.  He  is  dead,  and  his  wife  is  free.  So  long  as  he 
was  alive,  the  fact  of  your  loving  her  was  exceedingly 
unfortunate :  it  was  injuring  you  and  doing  a  wrong  to 
her.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  the  greatest  good  fortune 
that  can  happen  to  you  both  is  that  you  should  marry 
each  other." 

"  That  is  true,"  returned  Giovanni.  In  the  suddenness 
of  the  news,  it  had  not  struck  him  that  his  father  would 
ever  look  favourably  upon  the  match,  although  the  imme 
diate  possibility  of  the  marriage  had  burst  upon  him  as  a 
great  light  suddenly  rising  in  a  thick  darkness.  But  his 
nature,  as  strong  as  his  father's,  was  a  little  more  deli 
cate,  a  shade  less  rough ;  and  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
great  joy,  it  struck  him  as  heartless  to  be  discussing  the 
chances  of  marrying  a  woman  whose  husband  was  not  yet 
buried.  No  such  scruple  disturbed  the  geniality  of  the 
old  Prince.  He  was  an  honest  and  straightforward  man 
— a  man  easily  possessed  by  a  single  idea — and  he  was 
capable  of  profound  affections.  He  had  loved  his  Span 
ish  wife  strongly  in  his  own  fashion,  and  she  had  loved 
him ;  but  there  was  no  one  left  to  him  now  but  his  son, 
whom  he  delighted  in,  and  he  regarded  the  rest  of  the 
world  merely  as  pawns  to  be  moved  into  position  for  the 
honour  and  glory  of  the  Saracinesca.  He  thought  no  more 
of  a  man's  life  than  of  the  end  of  a  cigar,  smoked  out 
and  fit  to  be  thrown  away.  Astrardente  had  been  noth 
ing  to  him  but  an  obstacle.  It  had  not  struck  him  that 
he  could  ever  be  removed ;  but  since  it  had  pleased  Provi 
dence  to  take  him  out  of  the  way,  there  was  no  earthly 
reason  for  mourning  his  death.  All  men  must  die — it 
was  better  that  death  should  come  to  those  who  stood  in 
the  way  of  their  fellow-creatures. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  she  will  consent,"  said  Gio 
vanni,  beginning  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"Bah!"  ejaculated  his  father.  "You  are  the  best 
match  in  Italy.  Why  should  any  woman  refuse  you  ?  " 


222  SARACINESCA. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure.  She  is  not  like  other  women.  Let 
us  not  talk  of  it  now.  It  will  not  be  possible  to  do  any 
thing  for  a  year,  I  suppose.  A  year  is  a  long  time. 
Meanwhile  I  will  go  to  that  poor  man's  funeral." 

"  Of  course.     So  will  I." 

And  they  both  went,  and  found  themselves  in  a  vast 
crowd  of  acquaintances.  No  one  had  believed  that 
Astrardente  could  ever  die,  that  the  day  would  ever 
come  when  society  should  know  his  place  no  more ;  and 
with  one  consent  everybody  sent  their  carriages  to  the 
funeral,  and  went  themselves  a  day  or  two  later  to  the 
great  requiem  Mass  in  the  parish  church.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  great  black  catafalque,  with 
Corona's  household  of  servants  in  deep  mourning  liveries 
kneeling  behind  it.  Relations  she  had  none,  and  the 
dead  man  was  the  last  of  his  race — she  was  utterly  alone. 

"  She  need  not  have  made  it  so  terribly  impressive," 
said  Madame  Mayer  to  Valdarno  when  the  Mass  was 
over.  Madame  Mayer  paused  beside  the  holy-water  basin, 
and  dipping  one  gloved  finger,  she  presented  it  to  Val 
darno  with  an  engaging  smile.  Both  crossed  themselves. 

"  She  need  not  have  got  it  up  so  terribly  impressively, 
after  all,"  she  repeated. 

"  I  daresay  she  will  miss  him  at  first,"  returned  Val 
darno,  who  was  a  kind-hearted  fellow  enough,  and  was 
very  far  from  realising  how  much  he  had  contributed  to 
the  sudden  death  of  the  old  dandy.  "  She  is  a  strange 
woman.  I  believe  she  had  grown  fond  of  him." 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  as  they  left 
the  church. 

"Yes,"  answered  her  companion,  with  a  significant 
smile,  " I  presume  you  do."  Donna  Tullia  laughed  harshly 
as  she  got  into  her  carriage. 

"  You  are  detestable,  Valdarno — you  always  misunder 
stand  me.  Are  you  going  to  the  ball  to-night  ?  " 

"  Of  course.    May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  the  cotillon  ?  " 

"If  you  are  very  good — if  you  will  go  and  ask  the 
news  of  Del  Ferice." 


SARACINESCA.  223 

"  I  sent  this  morning.  He  is  quite  out  of  danger,  they 
believe." 

"  Is  he  ?  Oh,  I  am  very  glad — I  felt  so  very  badly, 
you  know.  Ah,  Don  Giovanni,  are  you  recovered  ?  "  she 
asked  coldly,  as  Saracinesca  approached  the  other  side  of 
the  carriage.  Valdarno  retired  to  a  distance,  and  pre 
tended  to  be  buttoning  his  greatcoat ;  he  wanted  to  see 
what  would  happen. 

"  Thank  you,  yes  ;  I  was  not  much  hurt.  This  is  the 
first  time  I  have  been  out,  and  I  am  glad  to  find  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  you.  Let  me  say  again  how 
profoundly  I  regret  my  f orgetfulness  at  the  ball  the  other 
night » 

Donna  Tullia  was  a  clever  woman,  and  though  she  had 
been  very  angry  at  the  time,  she  was  in  love  with  Gio 
vanni.  She  therefore  looked  at  him  suddenly  with  a 
gentle  smile,  and  just  for  one  moment  her  fingers  touched 
his  hand  as  it  rested  upon  the  side  of  the  carriage. 

"Do  you  think  it  was  kind?"  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  It  was  abominable.  I  shall  never  forgive  myself," 
answered  Giovanni. 

"I  will  forgive  you,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  softly. 
She  really  loved  him.  It  was  the  best  thing  in  her  na 
ture,  but  it  was  more  than  balanced  by  the  jealousy  she 
had  conceived  for  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente. 

"  Was  it  on  that  account  that  you  quarrelled  with  poor 
Del  Ferice  ?  "  she  asked,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I 
have  feared  it " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Giovanni,  quickly.  "  Pray 
set  your  mind  at  rest.  Del  Ferice  or  any  other  man 
would  have  been  quite  justified  in  calling  me  out  for  it — 
but  it  was  not  for  that.  It  was  not  on  account  of  you." 

It  would  have  been  hard  to  say  whether  Donna  Tullia' s 
face  expressed  more  clearly  her  surprise  or  her  disap 
pointment  at  the  intelligence.  Perhaps  she  had  both 
really  believed  herself  the  cause  of  the  duel,  and  had 
been  flattered  at  the  thought  that  men  would  fight  for  her. 


224  SAEACINESCA. 

"Oh,  I  am  very  glad — it  is  a  great  relief/'  she  said, 
rather  coldly.  "Are  you  going  to  the  ball  to-night?" 

"  No ;  I  cannot  dance.  My  right  arm  is  bound  up  in 
a  sling,  as  you  see." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  not  coming.     Good-bye,  then." 

"  Good-bye ;  I  am  very  grateful  for  your  forgiveness." 
Giovanni  bowed  low,  and  Donna  Tullia's  brilliant  equi 
page  dashed  away. 

Giovanni  was  well  satisfied  at  having  made  his  peace 
so  easily,  but  he  nevertheless  apprehended  danger  from 
Donna  Tullia. 

The  next  thing  which  interested  Roman  society  was 
Astrardente's  will,  but  no  one  was  much  surprised  when 
the  terms  of  it  were  known.  As  there  were  no  relations, 
everything  was  left  to  his  wife.  The  palace  in  Rome,  the 
town  and  castle  in  the  Sabines,  the  broad  lands  in  the 
low  hill-country  towards  Ceprano,  and  what  surprised 
even  the  family  lawyer,  a  goodly  sum  in  solid  English 
securities, — a  splendid  fortune  in  all,  according  to  Roman 
ideas.  Astrardente  abhorred  the  name  of  money  in  his 
conversation — it  had  been  one  of  his  affectations ;  but  he 
had  an  excellent  understanding  of  business,  and  was  ex 
ceedingly  methodical  in  the  management  of  his  affairs. 
The  inheritance,  the  lawer  thought,  might  be  estimated 
at  three  millions  of  scudi. 

"  Is  all  this  wealth  mine,  then  ?  "  asked  Corona,  when 
the  solicitor  had  explained  the  situation. 

"  All,  Signora  Duchessa.     You  are  enormously  rich." 

Enormously  rich !  And  alone  in  the  world.  Corona 
asked  herself  if  she  was  the  same  woman,  the  same  Corona 
del  Carmine  who  five  years  before  had  suffered  in  the  old 
convent  the  humiliation  of  having  no  pocket-money,  whose 
wedding-gown  had  been  provided  from  the  proceeds  of  a 
little  sale  of  the  last  relics  of  her  father's  once  splendid 
collection  of  old  china  and  pictures.  She  had  never 
thought  of  money  since  she  had  been  married ;  her  hus 
band  was  generous,  but  methodical ;  she  never  bought  any 
thing  without  consulting  him,  and  the  bills  all  went 


SABACIKESCA.  225 

through  his  hands.  Now  and  then  she  had  rather  timidly 
asked  for  a  small  sum  for  some  charity ;  she  had  lacked 
nothing  that  money  could  buy,  but  she  never  remembered 
to  have  had  more  than  a  hundred  francs  in  her  purse. 
Astrardente  had  once  offered  to  give  her  an  allowance, 
and  had  seemed  pleased  that  she  refused  it.  He  liked  to 
manage  things  himself,  being  a  man  of  detail. 

And  now  she  was  enormously  rich,  and  alone.  It  was 
a  strange  sensation.  She  felt  it  to  be  so  new  that  she 
innocently  said  so  to  the  lawyer. 

«  What  shall  I  do  with  it  all  ?  " 

"  Signora  Duchessa,"  returned  the  old  man,  "  with  re 
gard  to  money  the  question  is,  not  what  to  do  with  it,  but 
how  to  do  without  it.  You  are  very  young,  Signora 
Duchessa." 

"I  shall  be  twenty-three  in  August,"  said  Corona, 
simply. 

"  Precisely.  I  would  beg  to  be  allowed  to  observe  that 
by  the  terms  of  the  will,  and  by  the  laws  of  this  country, 
you  are  not  the  dowager-duchess,  but  you  are  in  your  own 
right  and  person  the  sole  and  only  feudal  mistress  and 
holder  of  the  title." 

«  Am  I  ? " 

"  Certainly,  with  all  the  privileges  thereto  attached.  It 
may  be — I  beg  pardon  for  being  so  bold  as  to  suggest  it — 
it  may  be  that  in  years  to  come,  when  time  has  soothed 
your  sorrow,  you  may  wish,  you  may  consent,  to  renew 
the  marriage  tie." 

"I  doubt  it — but  the  thing  is  possible,"  said  Corona, 
quietly. 

"  In  that  case,  and  should  you  prefer  to  contract  a  mar 
riage  of  inclination,  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  confer 
ring  your  title  upon  your  husband,  with  any  reservations 
you  please.  Your  children  will  then  inherit  from  you, 
and  become  in  their  turn  Dukes  of  Astrardente.  This  I 
conceive  to  have  been  the  purpose  and  spirit  of  the  late 
Duke's  will.  The  estate,  magnificent  as  it  is,  will  not  be 
too  large  for  the  foundation  of  a  new  race.  If  you  desire 


226  SARACINESCA. 

any  distinctive  title,  you  can  call  yourself  Duchessa  del 
Carmine  d'Astrardente — it  would  sound  very  well/7  re 
marked  the  lawyer,  contemplating  the  beautiful  woman 
before  him." 

"It  is  of  little  importance  what  I  call  myself,"  said 
Corona.  "  At  present  I  shall  certainly  make  no  change. 
It  is  very  unlikely  that  I  shall  ever  marry." 

"  I  trust,  Signora  Duchessa,  that  in  any  case  you  will 
always  command  my  most  humble  services." 

With  this  protestation  of  fidelity  the  lawyer  left  the 
Palazzo  Astrardente,  and  Corona  remained  in  her  boudoir 
in  meditation  of  what  it  would  be  like  to  be  the  feudal 
mistress  of  a  great  title  and  estate.  She  was  very  sad, 
but  she  was  growing  used  to  her  solitude.  Her  liberty 
was  strange  to  her,  but  little  by  little  she  was  beginning 
to  enjoy  it.  At  first  she  had  missed  the  constant  care  of 
the  poor  man  who  for  five  years  had  been  her  companion ; 
she  had  missed  his  presence  and  the  burden  of  thinking 
for  him  at  every  turn  of  the  day.  But  it  was  not  for 
long.  Her  memory  of  him  was  kind  and  tender,  and  for 
months  after  his  death  the  occasional  sight  of  some  object 
associated  with  him  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  She 
often  wished  he  could  walk  into  the  room  in  his  old  way, 
and  begin  talking  of  the  thousand  and  one  bits  of  town 
gossip  that  interested  him.  But  the  first  feeling  of  desola 
tion  soon  passed,  for  he  had  not  been  more  than  a  com 
panion  ;  she  could  analyse  every  memory  she  had  of  him  to 
its  source  and  reason.  There  was  not  in  her  that  passionate 
unformulated  yearning  for  him  that  comes  upon  a  loving 
heart  when  its  fellow  is  taken  away,  and  which  alone  is 
a  proof  that  love  has  been  real  and  true.  She  soon  grew 
accustomed  to  his  absence. 

To  marry  again — every  one  would  say  she  would  be 
right — to  marry  and  to  be  the  mother  of  children,  of 
brave  sons  and  noble  girls, — ah  yes!  that  was  a  new 
thought,  a  wonderful  thought,  one  of  many  that  were 
wonderful. 

Then,  again,  her  strong  nature  suddenly  rose  in  a  new 


SABACINESCA.  227 

sense  of  strength,  and  she  paced  the  room  slowly  with  a 
strange  expression  of  sternness  upon  her  beautiful  features. 

"I  am  a  power  in  the  world,"  she  said  to  herself, 
almost  starting  at  the  truth  of  the  thought,  and  yet 
taking  delight  in  it.  "I  am  what  men  call  rich  and 
powerful ;  I  have  money,  estates,  castles,  and  palaces ; 
I  am  young,  I  am  strong.  What  shall  I  do  with  it  all  ?  " 

As  she  walked,  she  dreamed  of  raising  some  great  in 
stitution  of  charity ;  she  knew  not  for  what  precise  object, 
but  there  was  room  enough  for  charity  in  E-ome.  The 
great  Torlonia  had  built  churches,  and  hospitals,  and  asy 
lums.  She  would  do  likewise ;  she  would  make  for  her 
self  an  interest  in  doing  good,  a  satisfaction  in  the  exercise 
of  her  power  to  combat  evil.  It  would  be  magnificent  to 
feel  that  she  had  done  it  herself,  alone  and  unaided  ;  that 
she  had  built  the  walls  from  the  foundation  and  the  cor 
ner-stone  to  the  eaves  ;  that  she  had  entered  herself  into 
the  study  of  each  detail,  and  herself  peopled  the  great 
institution  with  such  as  needed  most  help  in  the  world — 
with  little  children,  perhaps.  She  would  visit  them  every 
day,  and  herself  provide  for  their  wants  and  care  for  their 
sufferings.  She  would  give  the  place  her  husband's  name, 
and  the  good  she  would  accomplish  with  his  earthly  por 
tion  might  perhaps  profit  his  soul.  She  would  go  to  Padre 
Pilippo  and  ask  his  advice.  He  would  know  what  was 
best  to  be  done,  for  he  knew  more  of  the  misery  in  Rome 
than  any  one,  and  had  a  greater  mind  to  relieve  it.  She 
had  seen  him  since  her  husband's  death,  but  she  had  not 
yet  conceived  this  scheme. 

And  Giovanni — she  thought  of  him  too ;  but  the  habit 
of  putting  him  out  of  her  heart  was  strong.  She  dimly 
fancied  that  in  the  far  future  a  day  might  come  when  she 
would  be  justified  in  thinking  of  him  if  she  so  pleased ; 
but  for  the  present,  her  loyalty  to  her  dead  husband  seemed 
more  than  ever  a  sacred  duty.  She  would  not  permit 
herself  to  think  of  Giovanni,  even  though,  from  a  general 
point  of  view,  she  might  contemplate  the  possibility  of  a 
second  marriage.  She  would  go  to  Padre  Mlippo  and 


228  SAEACINESCA. 

talk  over  everything  with,  him ;   he  would  advise  her 
well. 

Then  a  wild  longing  seized  her  to  leave  Kome  for  a 
while,  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  country,  to  get  away  from 
the  scene  of  all  her  troubles,  of  all  the  terrible  emotions 
that  had  swept  over  her  life  in  the  last  three  weeks,  to 
be  alone  in  the  hills  or  by  the  sea.  It  seemed  dreadful 
to  be  tied  to  her  great  house  in  the  city,  in  her  mourning, 
shut  off  suddenly  from  the  world,  and  bound  down  by  the 
chain  of  conventionality  to  a  fixed  method  of  existence. 
She  would  give  anything  to  go  away.  Why  not  ?  She 
suddenly  realised  what  was  so  hard  to  understand,  that 
she  was  free  to  go  where  she  pleased — if  only,  by  accident, 
she  could  chance  to  meet  Giovanni  Saracinesca  before  she 
left.  No — the  thought  was  unworthy.  She  would  leave 
town  at  once — surely  she  could  have  nothing  to  say  to 
Giovanni — she  would  leave  to-morrow  morning. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Corona  found  it  impossible  to  leave  town  so  soon  as  she 
had  wished.  She  had  indeed  sent  out  great  cart-loads  of 
furniture,  servants,  horses,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  an 
establishment  in  the  country,  and  she  believed  herself 
ready  to  move  at  once,  when  she  received  an  exceedingly 
courteous  note  from  Cardinal  Antonelli  requesting  the 
honour  of  being  received  by  her  the  next  day  at  twelve 
o'clock.  It  was  impossible  to  refuse,  and  to  her  great 
annoyance  she  was  obliged  to  postpone  her  departure 
another  twenty -four  hours.  She  guessed  that  the  great 
man  was  the  bearer  of  some  message  from  the  Holy 
Father  himself ;  and  in  her  present  frame  of  mind,  such 
words  of  comfort  could  not  fail  to  be  acceptable  from  one 
whom  she  reverenced  and  loved,  as  all  who  knew  Pius  IX. 
did  sincerely  revere  and  love  him.  She  did  not  like  the 


SARACINESCA.  229 

• 

Cardinal,  it  is  true ;  but  she  did  not  confound  the  ambas 
sador  with  him  who  sent  the  embassy.  The  Cardinal  was 
a  most  courteous  and  accomplished  man  of  the  world,  and 
Corona  could  not  easily  have  explained  the  aversion  she 
felt  for  him.  It  is  very  likely  that  if  she  could  have 
understood  the  part  he  was  sustaining  in  the  great  Euro 
pean  struggle  of  those  days,  she  would  have  accorded  him 
at  least  the  admiration  he  deserved  as  a  statesman.  He 
had  his  faults,  and  they  were  faults  little  becoming  a 
cardinal  of  the  Holy  Roman  Church.  But  few  are  willing 
to  consider  that,  though  a  cardinal,  he  was  not  a  priest — 
that  he  was  practically  a  layman  who,  by  his  own  unaided 
genius,  had  attained  to  great  power,  and  that  those  faults 
which  have  been  charged  against  him  with  such  virulence 
would  have  passed,  nay,  actually  pass,  unnoticed  and  un- 
censured  in  many  a  great  statesman  of  those  days  and  of 
these.  He  was  a  brave  man,  who  fought  a  desperate  and 
hopeless  fight  to  his  last  breath,  and  who  fought  almost 
alone — a  man  most  bitterly  hated  by  many,  at  whose  death 
many  rejoiced  loudly  and  few  mourned ;  and  to  the  shame 
of  many  be  it  said,  that  his  most  obstinate  adversaries, 
those  who  unsparingly  heaped  abuse  upon  him  during  his 
lifetime,  and  most  unseemingly  exulted  over  his  end,  were 
the  very  men  among  whom  he  should  have  found  the  most 
willing  supporters  and  the  firmest  friends.  But  in  1865 
he  was  feared,  and  those  who  reckoned  without  him  in 
the  game  of  politics  reckoned  badly. 

Corona  was  a  woman,  and  very  young.  She  had  not 
the  knowledge  or  the  experience  to  understand  his  value, 
and  she  had  taken  a  personal  dislike  to  him  when  she  first 
appeared  in  society.  He  was  too  smooth  for  her;  she 
thought  him  false.  She  preferred  a  rougher  type.  Her 
husband,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a  boundless  admiration 
for  the  cardinal-statesman ;  and  perhaps  the  way  in  which 
Astrardente  constantly  tried  to  impress  his  wife  with  a 
sense  of  the  great  man's  virtues,  indirectly  contributed  to 
increase  her  aversion.  Nevertheless,  when  he  sent  word 
that  he  desired  to  be  received  by  her,  she  did  not  hesitate 


230  SARACINESCA. 

• 

a  moment,  but  expressed  her  willingness  at  once.  Punctu 
ally  as  the  gun  of  Sant  Angelo  roared  out  the  news  that 
the  sun  was  on  the  meridian,  Cardinal  Antonelli  entered 
Corona's  house.  She  received  him  in  the  great  drawing- 
room.  There  was  an  air  of  solemnity  about  the  meeting. 
The  room  itself,  divested  of  a  thousand  trifles  which  had 
already  been  sent  into  the  country,  looked  desolate  and 
formal ;  the  heavy  curtains  admitted  but  little  light ;  there 
was  no  fire  on  the  hearth  ;  Corona  stood  all  in  black — a 
very  incarnation  of  mourning — as  her  visitor  trod  softly 
across  the  dark  carpet  towards  her. 

The  Cardinal's  expressive  face  was  softened  by  a  look  of 
gentle  sympathy,  as  he  came  forward  and  took  her  hand 
in  both  of  his,  and  gazed  for  a  moment  into  her  beautiful 
eyes. 

"  I  am  an  ambassador,  Duchessa,"  he  said  softly.  "  I 
come  to  tell  you  how  deeply  our  Holy  Father  sympathises 
in  your  great  sorrow." 

Corona  bent  her  head  respectfully,  and  motioned  to  the 
Cardinal  to  be  seated. 

"I  beg  that  your  Eminence  will  convey  to  his  Holiness 
my  most  sincere  gratitude  for  this  expression  of  his  pater 
nal  kindness  to  one  so  unhappy." 

"  Indeed  I  will  not  fail  to  deliver  your  message,  Duch 
essa,"  answered  the  Cardinal,  seating  himself  by  her  side 
in  one  of  the  great  arm-chairs  which  had  been  placed  to 
gether  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  "His  Holiness  has 
promised  to  remember  you  in  his  august  prayers ;  and  I 
also,  for  my  own  part,  entreat  you  to  believe  that  my 
poor  sympathy  is  wholly  with  you  in  your  distress." 

"Your  Eminence  is  most  kind,"  replied  Corona,  gravely. 

It  seemed  as  though  there  were  little  more  to  be  said 
in  such  a  case.  There  was  no  friendship  between  the 
two,  no  bond  of  union  or  fellowship :  it  was  simply  a 
formal  visit  of  condolence,  entailed  as  a  necessity  by 
Corona's  high  position.  The  Pope  had  sent  her  a  gift  at 
her  wedding ;  he  sent  her  a  message  of  sympathy  at  her 
husband's  death.  Half-a-dozen  phrases  would  be  ex- 


SARACINESCA.  231 

changed,  and  the  Cardinal  would  take  his  leave,  accom 
panied  by  a  file  of  the  Duchessa's  lackeys — and  so  it 
would  all  be  over.  But  the  Cardinal  was  a  statesman,  a 
diplomatist,  and  one  of  the  best  talkers  in  Europe; 
moreover,  he  never  allowed  an  opportunity  of  pursuing 
his  ends  to  pass  unimproved. 

"  Ah,  Duchessa  !  "  he  said,  folding  his  hands  upon  his 
knee  and  looking  down,  "there  is  but  one  Consoler  in 
sorrow  such  as  yours.  It  is  vain  for  us  mortals  to  talk 
of  any  such  thing  as  alleviating  real  mental  suffering. 
There  are  consolations — many  of  them — for  some  people, 
but  they  are  not  for  you.  To  many  the  accidents  of 
wealth,  of  youth,  of  beauty,  seem  to  open  the  perspective 
of  a  brilliant  future  at  the  very  moment  when  all  the 
present  appears  to  be  shrouded  in  darkness ;  but  if  you 
will  permit  me,  who  know  you  so  little,  to  say  it  frankly, 
I  do  not  believe  that  any  of  these  things  which  you  pos 
sess  in  such  plentiful  abundance  will  lessen  the  measure 
of  your  grief.  It  is  not  right  that  they  should,  I  suppose. 
It  is  not  fitting  that  noble  minds  should  even  possess  the 
faculty  of  forgetting  real  suffering  in  the  unreal  trifles 
of  a  great  worldly  possession,  which  so  easily  restore  the 
weak  to  courage,  and  flatter  the  vulgar  into  the  forgetful- 
ness  of  honourable  sorrow.  I  am  no  moraliser,  no  pedan 
tic  philosopher.  The  stoic  may  have  shrugged  his  heavy 
shoulders  in  sullen  indifference  to  fate ;  the  epicurean 
may  have  found  such  bodily  ease  in  his  excessive  refine 
ment  of  moderate  enjoyment  as  to  overlook  the  deepest 
afflictions  in  anticipating  the  animal  pleasure  of  the  next 
meal.  I  cannot  conceive  of  such  men  as  those  philoso 
phising  diners;  nor  can  I  imagine  by  what  arguments 
the  wisest  of  mankind  could  induce  a  fellow-creature  in 
distress  to  forget  his  sufferings.  Sorrow  is  sorrow  still 
to  all  finely  organised  natures.  The  capacity  for  feeling 
sorrow  is  one  of  the  highest  tests  of  nobility — a  nobility 
of  nature  not  found  always  in  those  of  high  blood  and 
birth,  but  existing  in  the  people,  wherever  the  people  are 
good." 


232  SARACINESCA. 

The  Cardinal's  voice  became  even  more  gentle  as  he 
spoke.  He  was  himself  of  very  humble  origin,  and  spoke 
feelingly.  Corona  listened,  though  she  only  heard  half 
of  what  he  said ;  but  his  soft  tone  soothed  her  almost 
unconsciously. 

"  There  is  little  consolation  for  me — I  am  quite  alone/' 
she  said. 

"  You  are  not  of  those  who  find  relief  in  worldly  great 
ness/7  continued  the  Cardinal.  "  But  I  have  seen  women, 
young,  rich,  and  beautiful,  wear  their  mourning  with 
wonderful  composure.  Youth  is  so  much,  wealth  is  so 
much  more,  beauty  is  such  a  power  in  the  world — all 
three  together  are  resistless.  Many  a  young  widow  is 
not  ashamed  to  think  of  marriage  before  her  husband  has 
been  dead  a  month.  Indeed  they  do  not  always  make 
bad  wives.  A  woman  who  has  been  married  young  and 
is  early  deprived  of  her  husband,  has  great  experience, 
great  knowledge  of  the  world.  Many  feel  that  they  have 
no  right  to  waste  the  goods  given  them  in  a  life  of  soli 
tary  mourning.  Wealth  is  given  to  be  used,  and  perhaps 
many  a  rich  young  widow  thinks  she  can  use  it  more 
wisely  in  the  company  of  a  husband  young  as  herself. 
It  may  be ;  I  cannot  tell.  These  are  days  when  power  of 
any  sort  should  be  used,  and  perhaps  no  one  should  even 
for  a  moment  think  of  withdrawing  from  the  scene  where 
such  great  battles  are  being  fought.  But  one  may  choose 
wisely  a  way  of  using  power,  or  one  may  choose  unwisely. 
There  is  much  to  be  done." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Corona,  catching  at  his  expression  of 
an  idea  which  pursued  her.  "Here  am  I,  rich,  alone, 
idle — above  all,  very  unhappy.  What  can  I  do  ?  I  wish 
I  knew,  for  I  would  try  and  do  it." 

"  Ah !  I  was  not  speaking  of  you,  Duchessa,"  answered 
the  statesman.  "  You  are  too  noble  a  woman  to  be  easily 
consoled.  And  yet,  though  you  may  not  find  relief  from 
your  great  sorrow,  there  are  many  things  within  your  reach 
which  you  might  do,  and  feel  that  in  your  mourning  you 
have  done  honour  to  your  departed  husband  as  well  as  to 


SARACINESCA.  233 

yourself.  You  have  great  estates — you  can  improve  them, 
and  especially  you  can  improve  the  condition  of  your  peas 
ants,  and  strengthen  their  loyalty  to  you  and  to  the  State. 
You  can  find  many  a  village  on  your  lands  where  a  school 
might  be  established,  an  asylum  built,  a  road  opened 
— anything  which  shall  give  employment  to  the  poor,  and 
which,  when  finished,  shall  benefit  their  condition.  Espe 
cially  about  Astrardente  they  are  very  poor  j  I  know  the 
country  well.  In  six  months  you  might  change  many 
things  ;  and  then  you  might  return  to  Rome  next  winter. 
If  it  pleases  you,  you  can  do  anything  with  society.  You 
can  make  your  house  a  centre  for  a  new  party — the  old 
est  of  all  parties  it  is,  but  it  would  now  be  thought  new 
here.  We  have  no  centre.  There  is  no  salon  in  the  good 
old  sense  of  the  word — no  house  where  all  that  is  intelli 
gent,  all  that  is  powerful,  all  that  is  influential,  is  irresist 
ibly  drawn.  To  make  a  centre  of  that  kind  would  be  a 
worthy  object,  it  seems  to  me.  You  would  surround  your 
self  with  men  of  genius ;  you  would  bring  those  together 
who  cannot  meet  elsewhere ;  you  would  give  a  vigorous 
tone  to  a  society  which  is  fast  falling  to  decay  from  in 
anition  ;  you  could  become  a  power,  a  real  power,  not  only 
in  Rome,  but  in  Europe;  you  could  make  your  house 
famous  as  the  point  from  which,  in  Rome,  all  that  is  good 
and  great  should  radiate  to  the  very  ends  of  the  earth. 
You  could  do  all  this  in  your  young  widowhood,  and  you 
would  not  dishonour  the  memory  of  him  you  loved  so 
dearly." 

Corona  looked  earnestly  at  the  Cardinal  as  he  enlarged 
upon  the  possibilities  of  her  life.  What  he  said  seemed 
true  and  good.  It  opened  to  her  a  larger  field  than  she 
had  dreamed  of  half  an  hour  ago.  Especially  the  plan 
of  working  for  the  improvement  of  her  estates  and  peo 
ple  attracted  her.  She  wanted  to  do  something  at  once 
— something  good,  and  something  worth  doing. 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  die  if  I 
am  idle." 

"I  know  I  am  right,"  returned  the  Cardinal,  in  a  tone  of 


234  SABACIKESCA. 

conviction.  "Not  that  I  propose  all  this  as  an  unalterable 
plan  for  you.  I  would  not  have  you  think  I  mean  to  lay 
down  any  system,  or  even  to  advise  you  at  all.  I  was 
merely  thinking  aloud.  I  am  too  happy  if  my  thoughts 
please  you — if  anything  I  say  can  even  for  a  moment 
relieve  your  mind  from  the  pressure  of  this  sudden  grief. 
It  is  not  consolation  I  offer  you.  I  am  not  a  priest,  but 
a  man  of  action ;  and  it  is  action  I  propose  to  you,  not  as 
an  anodyne  for  sorrow,  but  simply  because  it  is  right  that 
in  these  days  we  should  all  strive  with  a  good  will.  Your 
peasants  are  many  of  them  in  an  evil  case  :  you  can  save 
them  and  make  them  happy,  even  though  you  find  no 
happiness  for  yourself.  Our  social  world  here  is  falling 
to  pieces,  going  astray  after  strange  gods,  and  especially 
after  Madame  Mayer  and  her  lares  and  penates,  young 
Valdarno  and  Del  Ferice  :  it  is  in  your  power  to  create  a 
new  life  here,  or  at  least  to  contribute  greatly  towards  re 
establishing  the  social  balance.  I  say,  do  this  thing,  if 
you  will,  for  it  is  a  good  thing  to  do.  At  all  events, 
while  you  are  building  roads — and  perhaps  schools — at 
Astrardente,  you  can  think  over  the  course  you  will  after 
wards  pursue.  And  now,  my  dear  Duchessa,  I  have  de 
tained  you  far  too  long.  Forgive  me  if  I  have  wearied 
you,  for  I  have  great  things  at  heart,  and  must  sometimes 
speak  of  them  though  I  speak  feebly.  Count  on  me 
always  for  any  assistance  you  may  require.  Bear  with 
me  if  I  weary  you,  for  I  was  a  good  friend  of  him  we 
both  mourn." 

' '  Thank  you — you  have  given  me  good  thoughts,"  said 
Corona,  simply. 

So  the  courtly  Cardinal  rose  and  took  his  leave,  and 
once  more  Corona  was  left  alone.  It  was  a  strange  thing 
that,  while  he  disclaimed  all  power  to  comfort  her,  and 
denied  that  consolation  was  possible  in  her  case,  she  had 
nevertheless  listened  to  him  with  interest,  and  now  found 
herself  thinking  seriously  of  what  he  had  said.  He 
seemed  to  have  put  her  thoughts  into  shape,  and  to  have 
given  direction  to  that  sense  of  power  she  had  already 


SARACINESCA.  235 

begun  to  feel.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt 
something  like  sympathy  for  the  Cardinal,  and  she  lin 
gered  for  some  minutes  alone  in  the  great  reception-room, 
wondering  whether  she  could  accomplish  any  of  the 
things  he  had  proposed  to  her.  At  all  events,  there  was 
nothing  now  to  hinder  her  departure ;  and  she  thought 
with  something  like  pleasure  of  the  rocky  Sabines,  the 
solitude  of  the  mountains,  the  simple  faces  of  the  people 
about  her  place,  and  of  the  quiet  life  she  intended  to  lead 
there  during  the  next  six  months. 

But  the  Cardinal  went  on  his  way,  rolling  along  through 
the  narrow  streets  in  his  great  coach.  Leaning  far  back 
in  *his  cushioned  seat,  he  could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  people  as  he  passed,  and  his  quick  eyes  recognised 
many,  both  high  and  low.  But  he  did  not  care  to  show 
himself,  for  he  felt  himself  disliked,  and  deep  in  his 
finely  organised  nature  there  lay  a  sensitiveness  which 
was  wounded  by  the  popular  hatred.  It  hurt  him  to  see 
the  lowering  glances  of  the  poor  man,  and  to  return  the 
forced  bow  of  the  rich  man  who  feared  him.  He  often 
longed  to  be  able  to  explain  many  things  to  them  both, 
to  the  rich  and  to  the  poor;  and  then,  knowing  how 
impossible  it  was  that  he  should  be  understood  by  either, 
he  sighed  somewhat  bitterly,  and  hid  himself  still  deeper 
in  his  carriage.  Few  men  in  the  midst  of  the  world  have 
stood  so  wholly  alone  as  Cardinal  Antonelli. 

To-day,  however,  he  had  an  appointment  which  he 
anticipated  with  a  sort  of  interest  quite  new  to  him. 
Anastase  Gouache  was  coming  to  begin  his  portrait,  and 
Anastase  was  an  object  of  curiosity  to  him.  It  would 
have  surprised  the  young  Frenchman  had  he  guessed  how 
carefully  he  was  watched,  for  he  was  a  modest  fellow, 
and  did  not  think  himself  of  very  much  importance.  He 
allowed  Donna  Tullia  and  her  friends  to  come  to  his 
studio  whenever  they  pleased,  and  he  listened  to  their 
shallow  talk,  and  joined  occasionally  in  the  conversation, 
letting  them  believe  that  he  sympathised  with  them, 
simply  because  his  own  ideas  were  unsettled.  It  was  a 


236  SAKACINESCA. 

good  thing  for  him  to  paint  a  portrait  of  Donna  Tullia, 
for  it  made  him  the  fashion,  and  he  had  small  scruple  in 
agreeing  with  her  views  so  long  as  he  had  no  fixed  con 
victions  of  his  own.  She  and  her  set  regarded  him  as  a 
harmless  boy,  and  looked  upon  his  little  studio  as  a  con 
venience,  in  payment  whereof  they  pushed  him  into 
society,  and  spread  abroad  the  rumour  that  he  was  the 
rising  artist  of  the  day.  But  the  great  Cardinal  had 
seen  him  more  than  once,  and  had  conceived  a  liking  for 
his  delicate  intellectual  face  and  unobtrusive  manner. 
He  had  watched  him  and  caused  him  to  be  watched,  and 
his  interest  had  increased,  and  finally  he  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  have  a  portrait  of  himself  painted  by  the  young 
fellow.  This  was  the  day  appointed  for  the  first  sitting ; 
and  when  the  Cardinal  reached  his  lodgings,  high  up  in 
the  Vatican  pile,  he  found  Anastase  Gouache  waiting  for 
him  in  the  small  ante-chamber. 

The  prime  minister  was  not  luxuriously  lodged.  Four 
rooms  sufficed  him — to  wit,  the  said  ante-chamber,  bare 
and  uncarpeted,  and  furnished  with  three  painted  wooden 
box  benches ;  a  comfortable  study  lined  throughout  with 
shelves  and  lockers,  furnished  with  half-a-dozen  large 
chairs  and  a  single  writing-table,  whereon  stood  a  crucifix 
and  an  inkstand;  beyond  this  a  bedroom  and  a  small 
dining-room :  that  was  all.  The  drawers  of  the  lockers 
and  bookcases  contained  a  correspondence  which  would 
have  astonished  Europe,  and  a  collection  of  gems  and 
precious  stones  unrivalled  in  the  world ;  but  there  was 
nothing  in  the  shape  of  ornament  visible  to  the  eye, 
unless  one  were  to  class  under  that  head  a  fairly  good 
bust  of  Pius  IX.,  which  stood  upon  a  plain  marble  ped 
estal  in  one  corner.  Gouache  followed  the  great  man 
into  this  study.  He  was  surprised  by  the  simplicity  of 
the  apartment ;  but  he  felt  in  sympathy  with  it,  and  with 
the  Cardinal  himself ;  and  with  the  intuitive  knowledge 
of  a  true  artist,  he  foresaw  that  he  was  to  paint  a  success 
ful  portrait. 

The  Cardinal  busied  himself  with  some  papers  while 
the  painter  silently  made  his  preparations. 


6ARACINESCA.  237 

"  If  your  Eminence  is  ready  ?  "  suggested  Gouache. 

"At  your  service,  my  friend/'  replied  the  Cardinal, 
blandly.  "  How  shall  I  sit  ?  The  portrait  must  be  taken 
in  full  face,  I  think." 

"  By  all  means.  Here,  I  think — so ;  the  light  is  very 
good  at  this  hour,  but  a  little  later  we  shall  have  the  sun. 
If  your  Eminence  will  look  at  me — a  little  more  to  the 
left— I  think  that  will  do.  I  will  draw  it  in  in  charcoal, 
and  your  Eminence  can  judge." 

"  Precisely/7  returned  the  Cardinal.  "  You  will  paint 
the  devil  even  blacker  than  he  is." 

"  The  devil  ?  "  repeated  Gouache,  raising  his  eyebrows 
with  a  slight  smile.  "I  was  not  aware " 

"  And  yet  you  have  been  in  Kome  four  years ! " 

"  I  am  very  careful,"  returned  Gouache.  "  I  never  by 
any  chance  hear  any  evil  of  those  whom  I  am  to  paint.7' 

"  You  have  very  well-bred  ears,  Monsieur  Gouache.  I 
fear  that  if  I  had  attended  some  of  the  meetings  in  your 
studio  while  Donna  Tullia  was  having  her  portrait 
painted,  I  should  have  heard  strange  things.  Have 
they  all  escaped  you  ?  " 

Gouache  was  silent  for  a  moment.  It  did  not  surprise 
him  to  learn  that  the  omniscient  Cardinal  was  fully 
acquainted  with  the  doings  in  his  studio,  but  he  looked 
curiously  at  the  great  man  before  he  answered.  The 
Cardinal's  small  gleaming  eyes  met  his  with  the  fearless 
ness  of  superiority. 

"  I  remember  nothing  but  good  of  your  Eminence/7  the 
painter  replied  at  last,  with  a  laugh ;  and  applying  him 
self  to  his  work,  he  began  to  draw  in  the  outline  of  the 
Cardinal's  head.  The  words  he  had  just  heard,  implying 
as  they  did  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  minutest  details 
of  social  life,  would  have  terrified  Madame  Mayer,  and 
would  perhaps  have  driven  Del  Ferice  out  of  the  Papal 
States  in  fear  of  his  life.  Even  the  good-natured  and 
foolish  Valdarno  might  reasonably  have  been  startled ; 
but  Anastase  was  made  of  different  stuff.  His  grand 
father  had  helped  to  storm  the  Bastille,  his  father  had 

Vol.  10—11 


238  SAKACINESCA. 

been  among  the  men  of  1848 ;  there  was  revolutionary 
blood  in  his  veins,  and  he  distinguished  between  real  and 
imaginary  conspiracy  with  the  unerring  certainty  of  in 
stinct,  as  the  bloodhound  knows  the  track  of  man  from 
the  slot  of  meaner  game.  He  laughed  at  Donna  Tullia,  he 
distrusted  Del  Ferice,  and  to  some  extent  he  understood 
the  Cardinal.  And  the  statesman  understood  him,  too, 
and  was  interested  by  him. 

"  You  may  as  well  forget  their  chatter.  It  does  me  no 
harm,  and  it  amuses  them.  It  does  not  seem  to  surprise 
you  that  I  should  know  all  about  it,  however.  You  have 
good  nerves,  Monsieur  Gouache." 

"  Of  course  your  Eminence  can  send  me  out  of  Rome  to 
morrow,  if  you  please,"  answered  Gouache,  with  perfect 
unconcern.  "  But  the  portrait  will  not  be  finished  so  soon." 

"No — that  wbuld  be  a  pity.  You  shall  stay.  But 
the  others — what  would  you  advise  me  to  do  with 
them  ? "  asked  the  Cardinal,  his  bright  eyes  twinkling 
with  amusement. 

"  If  by  the  others  your  Eminence  means  my  friends," 
replied  Gouache,  quietly,  "  I  can  assure  you  that  none  of 
them  will  ever  cause  you  the  slightest  inconvenience." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right — their  ability  to  annoy  me  is 
considerably  inferior  to  their  inclination.  Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"If  your  Eminence  will  allow  me,"  said  Gouache,  ris 
ing  suddenly  and  laying  down  his  charcoal  pencil,  "  I  will 
pin  this  curtain  across  the  window.  The  sun  is  begin 
ning  to  come  in." 

He  had  no  intention  of  answering  any  questions.  If 
the  Cardinal  knew  of  the  meetings  in  the  Via  San  Basilio, 
that  was  not  Gouache's  fault  j  Gouache  would  certainly 
not  give  any  further  information.  The  statesman  had 
expected  as  much,  and  was  not  at  all  surprised  at  the 
young  man's  silence. 

"  One  of  those  young  gentlemen  seems  to  have  met  his 
match,  at  all  events,"  he  remarked,  presently.  "I  am 
sorry  it  should  have  come  about  in  that  way." 

"  Your  Eminence  might  easily  have  prevented  the  duel." 


SARACINESCA. 

"I  knew  nothing  about  it,"  answered  the  Cardinal, 
glancing  keenly  at  Anastase. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  artist,  simply. 

"You  see  my  information  is  not  always  so  good  as 
people  imagine,  my  friend." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  remarked  G-ouache.  "  It  would  have 
been  better  had  poor  Del  Ferice  been  killed  outright. 
The  matter  would  have  terminated  there." 

"  Whereas " 

"  Whereas  Del  Ferice  will  naturally  seek  an  occasion 
for  revenge." 

"  You  speak  as  though  you  were  a  friend  of  Don  Gio 
vanni's,"  said  the  Cardinal. 

"  No  ;  I  have  a  very  slight  acquaintance  with  him.  I 
admire  him,  he  has  such  a  fine  head.  I  should  be  sorry 
if  anything  happened  to  him." 

"  Do  you  think  Del  Ferice  is  capable  of  murdering  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !     He  might  annoy  him  a  great  deal." 

"I  think  not,"  answered  the  Cardinal,  thoughtfully. 
"  Del  Ferice  was  afraid  that  Don  Giovanni  would  marry 
Donna  Tullia  and  spoil  his  own  projects.  But  Giovanni 
will  not  think  of  that  again." 

"  No ;  I  suppose  Don  Giovanni  will  marry  the  Duchessa* 
d'Astrardente." 

"Of  course,"  replied  the  Cardinal.  For  some  minuter- 
there  was  silence.  Gouache,  while  busy  with  his  pencil, 
was  wondering  at  the  interest  the  great  man  took  in  such 
details  of  the  Eoman  social  life.  The  Cardinal  was 
thinking  of  Corona,  whom  he  had  seen  but  half  an  hour 
ago,  and  was  revolving  in  his  mind  the  advantages  that 
might  be  got  by  allying  her  to  Giovanni.  He  had  in  view 
for  her  a  certain  Serene  Highness  whom  he  wished  to 
conciliate,  and  whose  circumstances  were  not  so  splendid 
as  to  make  Corona's  fortune  seem  insignificant  to  him. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  the  Cardinal  had  no  Serene  High 
ness  ready  for  Giovanni,  and  feared  lest  he  should 
after  all  marry  Donna  Tullia,  and  get  into  the  opposite 
camp. 


240  SARACINESCA. 

"You  are  from  Paris,  Monsieur  Gouache,  I  believe," 
said  the  Cardinal  at  last. 

"  Parisian  of  the  Parisians,  your  Eminence." 

"How  can  you  bear  to  live  in  exile  so  long?  You 
have  not  been  to  your  home  these  four  years,  I  think." 

"  I  would  rather  live  in  Rome  for  the  present.  I  will 
go  to  Paris  some  day.  It  will  always  be  a  pleasant  recol 
lection  to  have  seen  Kome  in  these  days.  My  friends 
write  me  that  Paris  is  gay,  but  not  pleasant." 

"  You  think  there  will  soon  be  nothing  of  this  time  left 
but  the  recollection  of  it  ?  "  suggested  the  Cardinal. 

"I  do  not  know  what  to  think.  The  times  seem  un 
settled,  and  so  are  my  ideas.  I  was  told  that  your  Emi' 
nence  would  help  me  to  decide  what  to  believe."  Gouache 
smiled  pleasantly,  and  looked  up. 

"And  who  told  you  that  ?  " 

"  Don  Giovanni  Saracinesca." 

"But  I  must  have  some  clue  to  what  your  ideas  are," 
said  the  Cardinal.  "  When  did  Don  Giovanni  say  that  ?  " 

"  At  Prince  Frangipani's.  He  had  been  talking  with 
your  Eminence — perhaps  he  had  come  to  some  conclusion 
in  consequence,"  suggested  Gouache. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  answered  the  great  man,  with  a  look  of 
considerable  satisfaction.  "  At  all  events  I  am  nattered 
by  the  opinion  he  gave  you  of  me.  Perhaps  I  may  help 
you  to  decide.  What  are  your  opinions  ?  or  rather,  what 
would  you  like  your  opinions  to  be  ?  " 

"  I  am  an  ardent  republican,"  said  Gouache,  boldly.  It 
needed  no  ordinary  courage  to  make  such  a  statement  to 
the  incarnate  chief  of  reactionary  politics  in  those  days — 
within  the  walls  of  the  Vatican,  not  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  private  apartments  of  the  Holy  Father.  But  Cardinal 
Antonelli  smiled  blandly,  and  seemed  not  in  the  least  sur 
prised  nor  offended. 

"  Eepublicanism  is  an  exceedingly  vague  term,  Mon 
sieur  Gouache,"  he  said.  "But  with  what  other  opin 
ions  do  you  wish  to  reconcile  your  republicanism  ?  " 

"  With  those  held  by  the  Church.  I  am  a  good  Catholic, 


SABACINESCA.  241 

and  I  desire  to  remain  one — indeed  I  cannot  help  remain 
ing  one." 

"Christianity  is  not  vague,  at  all  events/7  answered 
the  Cardinal,  who,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  somewhat  aston 
ished  at  the  artist's  juxtaposition  of  two  such  principles. 
"  In  the  first  place,  allow  me  to  observe,  my  friend,  that 
Christianity  is  the  purest  form  of  a  republic  which  the 
world  has  ever  seen,  and  that  it  therefore  only  depends 
upon  your  good  sense  to  reconcile  in  your  own  mind  two 
ideas  which  from  the  first  have  been  indissolubly  bound 
together." 

It  was  G-ouache's  turn  to  be  startled  at  the  Cardinal's 
confidence. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  ask  your  Eminence  for  some  fur 
ther  explanation/'  he  said.  "I  had  no  idea  that  Chris 
tianity  and  republicanism  were  the  same  thing." 

"  Republicanism,"  returned  the  statesman,  "  is  a  vague 
term,  invented  in  an  abortive  attempt  to  define  by  one 
word  the  mass  of  inextricable  disorder  arising  in  our 
times  from  the  fusion  of  socialistic  ideas  with  ideas  purely 
republican.  If  you  mean  to  speak  of  this  kind  of  thing, 
you  must  define  precisely  your  position  in  regard  to 
socialism,  and  in  regard  to  the  pure  theory  of  a  common 
wealth.  If  you  mean  to  speak  of  a  real  republic  in  any 
known  form,  such  as  the  ancient  Roman,  the  Dutch,  or  the 
American,  I  understand  you  without  further  explanation." 

"I  certainly  mean  to  speak  of  the  pure  republic.  I 
believe  that  under  a  pure  republic  the  partition  of  wealth 
would  take  care  of  itself." 

"  Very  good,  my  friend.  Now,  with  regard  to  the  early 
Christians,  should  you  say  that  their  communities  were 
monarchic,  or  aristocratic,  or  oligarchic  ?  " 

"  None  of  those  three,  I  should  think,"  said  Gouache, 

"There  are  only  two  systems  left,  then — democracy 
and  hierarchy.  You  will  probably  say  that  the  govern 
ment  of  the  early  Christians  was  of  the  latter  kind — that 
they  were  governed  by  priests,  in  fact.  But  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  no  doubt  that  both  those  who  governed, 


242  SAKACINESCA. 

and  those  who  were  governed  by  them,  had  all  things  in 
common,  regarded  no  man  as  naturally  superior  to  an 
other,  and  preached  a  fraternity  and  equality  at  least  as 
sincere  as  those  inculcated  by  the  first  French  Republic. 
I  do  not  see  how  you  can  avoid  calling  such  community 
a  republic,  seeing  that  there  was  an  equal  partition  of 
wealth ;  and  defining  it  as  a  democratic  one,  seeing  that 
they  all  called  each  other  brethren." 

"  But  the  hierarchy — what  became  of  it  ?  "  inquired 
Gouache. 

"  The  hierarchy  existed  within  the  democracy,  by  com 
mon  consent  and  for  the  public  good,  and  formed  a  sec 
ond  democracy  of  smaller  extent  but  greater  power.  Any 
man  might  become  a  priest,  any  priest  might  become  a 
bishop,  any  bishop  might  become  pope,  as  surely  as  any 
born  citizen  of  Rome  could  become  consul,  or  any  native 
of  New  York  may  be  elected  President  of  the  United 
States.  Now  in  theory  this  was  beautiful,  and  in  prac 
tice  the  democratic  spirit  of  the  hierarchy,  the  smaller  re 
public,  has  survived  in  undiminished  vigour  to  the  present 
day.  In  the  original  Christian  theory  the  whole  world 
should  now  be  one  vast  republic,  in  which  all  Christians 
should  call  each  other  brothers,  and  support  each  other 
in  worldly  as  well  as  spiritual  matters.  Within  this 
should  exist  the  smaller  republic  of  the  hierarchy,  by 
common  consent, — an  elective  body,  recruiting  its  num 
bers  from  the  larger,  as  it  does  now ;  choosing  its  head, 
the  sovereign  Pontiff,  as  it  does  now,  to  be  the  head  of 
both  Church  and  State ;  eminently  fitted  for  that  position, 
for  the  very  simple  reason  that  in  a  community  organised 
and  maintained  upon  such  principles,  in  which,  by  virtue 
of  the  real  and  universal  love  of  religion,  the  best  men 
would  find  their  way  into  the  Church,  and  would  ulti 
mately  find  their  way  to  the  papal  throne." 

"  Your  Eminence  states  the  case  very  convincingly," 
answered  Gouache.  "  But  why  has  the  larger  republic, 
which  was  to  contain  the  smaller  one,  ceased  to  exist  ? 
or  rather,  why  did  it  never  come  into  existence  ?  " 


SAKACINESCA.  243 

"  Because  man  has  not  yet  fulfilled  Ms  part  in  the  great 
contract.  The  matter  lies  in  a  nutshell.  The  men  who 
enter  the  Church  are  sufficiently  intelligent  and  well 
educated  to  appreciate  the  advantages  of  Christian  democ 
racy,  fellowship,  solidarity,  and  brotherly  love.  The 
republic  of  the  Church  has  therefore  survived,  and  will 
survive  for  ever.  The  men  who  form  the  majority,  on 
the  other  hand,  have  never  had  either  the  intelligence  or 
the  education  to  understand  that  democracy  is  the  ulti 
mate  form  of  government :  instead  of  forming  themselves 
into  a  federation,  they  have  divided  themselves  into 
hostile  factions,  calling  themselves  nations,  and  seeking 
every  occasion  for  destroying  and  plundering  each  other, 
frequently  even  turning  against  the  Church  herself.  The 
Church  has  committed  faults  in  history,  without  doubt, 
but  on  the  whole  she  has  nobly  fulfilled  her  contract,  and 
reaps  the  fruits  of  fidelity  in  the  vigour  and  unity  she 
displays  after  eighteen  centuries.  Man,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  failed  to  do  his  duty,  and  all  races  of  men  are 
consequently  suffering  for  their  misdeeds  j  the  nations  are 
divided  against  each  other,  and  every  nation  is  a  house 
divided  against  itself,  which  sooner  or  later  shall  fall." 

"But,"  objected  Gouache,  "  allowing,  as  one  easily  may, 
that  all  this  is  true,  your  Eminence  is  always  called  reac 
tionary  in  politics.  Does  that  accord  with  these  views  ?" 

Gouache  believed  the  question  unanswerable,  but  as  he 
put  it  he  worked  calmly  on  with  his  pencil,  labouring 
hard  to  catch  something  of  the  Cardinal's  striking  expres 
sion  in  the  rough  drawing  he  was  making. 

"  Nothing  is  easier,  my  friend,"  replied  the  statesman. 
"  The  republic  of  the  Church  is  driven  to  bay.  We  are 
on  a  war  footing.  For  the  sake  of  strength  we  are 
obliged  to  hold  together  so  firmly  that  for  the  time  we 
can  only  think  of  maintaining  old  traditions  without 
dreaming  of  progress  or  spending  time  in  experiments. 
When  we  have  weathered  the  storm  we  shall  have  leisure 
for  improving  much  that  needs  improvement.  Do  not 
think  that  if  I  am  alive  twenty  years  hence  I  shall  advise 


244  SARACINESCA. 

what  I  advise  now.  We  are  fighting  now,  and  we  have 
no  time  to  think  of  the  arts  of  peace.  We  shall  have 
peace  some  day.  We  shall  lose  an  ornament  or  two  from 
our  garments  in  the  struggle,  but  our  body  will  not  be 
injured,  and  in  time  of  peace  our  ornaments  will  be  re 
stored  to  us  fourfold.  But  now  there  is  war  and  rumour 
of  war.  There  is  a  vast  difference  between  the  ideal 
republic  which  I  was  speaking  of,  and  the  real  anarchy 
and  confusion  which  would  be  brought  about  by  what  is 
called  republicanism." 

"In  other  words,  if  the  attack  upon  the  Church  were 
suddenly  abandoned,  your  Eminence  would  immediately 
abandon  your  reactionary  policy,"  said  Gouache,  "  and 
adopt  progressive  views  ?  " 

"  Immediately,"  replied  the  Cardinal. 

"  I  see,"  said  Gouache.  "  A  little  more  towards  me — 
just  so  that  I  can  catch  that  eye.  Thank  you — that  will 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

When  Del  Fence  was  thought  sufficiently  recovered  of 
his  wound  to  hear  some  of  the  news  of  the  day,  which 
was  about  three  weeks  after  the  duel,  he  learned  that 
Astrardente  was  dead,  that  the  Duchessa  had  inherited 
all  his  fortune,  and  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  leaving 
Eome.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  how  the  information  of 
her  approaching  departure  had  got  abroad ;  it  might  be 
merely  a  clever  guess  of  the  gossips,  or  it  might  be  the 
report  gleaned  from  her  maid  by  all  the  other  maids  in 
town.  Be  that  as  it  may,  when  Del  Ferice  heard  it  he 
ground  his  teeth  as  he  lay  upon  his  bed,  and  swore  that 
if  it  were  possible  to  prevent  the  Duchessa  d' Astrardente 
from  leaving  town  he  would  do  it.  In  his  judgment  it 
would  be  a  dangerous  thing  to  let  Corona  and  Giovanni 
part,  and  to  allow  Donna  Tullia  free  play  in  her  matri- 


SAKACINESCA.  245 

monial  designs.  Of  course  Giovanni  would  never  marry 
Madame  Mayer,  especially  as  he  was  now  at  liberty  to 
marry  the  Astrardente;  but  Madame  Mayer  herself 
might  become  fatally  interested  in  him,  as  she  already 
seemed  inclined  to  be,  and  this  would  be  bad  for  Del 
Ferice's  own  prospects.  It  would  not  do  to  squander 
any  of  the  advantages  gained  by  the  death  of  the  old 
Duca.  Giovanni  must  be  hastened  into  a  marriage  with 
Corona;  it  would  be  time  enough  to  think  of  revenge 
upon  him  afterwards  for  the  ghastly  wound  that  took  so 
long  to  heal. 

It  was  a  pity  that  Del  Ferice  and  Donna  Tullia  were 
not  allies,  for  if  Madame  Mayer  hated  Corona  d? Astrar 
dente,  Ugo  del  Ferice  detested  Giovanni  with  equal  viru- 
lency,  not  only  because  he  had  been  so  terribly  worsted 
by  him  in  the  duel  his  own  vile  conduct  had  made  inevi 
table,  but  because  Donna  Tullia  loved  him  and  was  doing 
her  very  best  to  marry  him.  Evidently  the  best  thing 
to  be  done  was  to  produce  a  misunderstanding  between 
the  two ;  but  it  would  be  dangerous  to  play  any  tricks 
with  Giovanni,  for  he  held  Del  Ferice  in  his  power  by  his 
knowledge  of  that  disagreeable  scene  behind  the  plants 
in  the  conservatory.  Saracinesca  was  a  great  man  in 
society  and  celebrated  for  his  honesty ;  people  would  be 
lieve  him  rather  than  Del  Ferice,  if  the  story  got  abroad. 
This  would  not  do.  The  next  best  thing  was  to  endeavour 
to  draw  Giovanni  and  Corona  together  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible,  to  precipitate  their  engagement,  and  thus  to  clear 
the  field  of  a  dangerous  rival.  Del  Ferice  was  a  very 
obstinate  and  a  very  intelligent  man.  He  meant  more 
than  ever  to  marry  Donna  Tullia  himself,  and  he  would 
not  be  hindered  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  object  by 
an  insignificant  scruple. 

He  was  not  allowed  to  speak  much,  lest  the  effort 
should  retard  the  healing  of  his  throat ;  but  in  the  long 
days  and  nights,  when  he  lay  silent  in  his  quiet  lodging, 
he  had  ample  time  to  revolve  many  schemes  in  his  brain. 
At  last  he  no  longer  needed  the  care  of  the  Sister  of 


246  SAKACINESCA. 

Mercy ;  his  servant  took  charge  of  him,  and  the  surgeon 
came  twice  a-day  to  dress  his  wound.  He  lay  in  bed 
one  morning  watching  Temistocle,  who  moved  noiselessly 
about  the  room. 

"Temistocle,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  youth  of  intelli 
gence  :  you  must  use  the  gifts  nature  has  given  you." 

Temistocle  was  at  that  time  not  more  than  five-and- 
twenty  years  of  age.  He  had  a  muddy  complexion,  a 
sharp  hooked  nose,  and  a  cast  in  one  eye  that  gave  him 
a  singularly  unpleasant  expression.  As  his  master  ad 
dressed  him,  he  stood  still  and  listened  with  a  sort  of 
distorted  smile  in  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment 
made  him. 

"Temistocle,  you  must  find  out  when  the  Duchessa 
d'Astrardente  means  to  leave  Kome,  and  where  she  is 
going.  You  know  somebody  in  the  house  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir — the  under-cook;  he  stood  godfather  with 
me  for  the  baby  of  a  cousin  of  mine — the  young  man 
who  drives  Prince  Valdarno's  private  brougham :  a  clever 
fellow,  too." 

"  And  this  under-cook,"  said  Del  Ferice,  who  was  not 
above  entering  into  details  with  his  servant — "  is  he  a 
discreet  character  ?  " 

"Oh,  for  that,  you  may  trust  him.  Only  sometimes 
Temistocle  grinned,  and  made  a  gesture  which 
signified  drinking. 

"  And  when  he  is  drunk  ?  "  asked  Del  Ferice. 

"  When  he  is  drunk  he  tells  everything ;  but  he  never 
remembers  anything  he  has  been  told,  or  has  said.  When 
he  is  drunk  he  is  a  dictionary ;  but  the  first  draught  of 
water  washes  out  his  memory  like  a  slate." 

"Well — give  me  my  purse;  it  is  under  my  pillow. 
Go.  Here  is  a  scudo,  Temistocle.  You  can  make  him 
very  drunk  for  that." 

Temistocle  hesitated,  and  looked  at  the  money. 

"Another  couple  of  pauls  would  make  it  safer,"  he 
remarked. 

"  Well,  there  they  are  j  but  you  must  make  him  very 


SABACINESCA.  247 

drunk  indeed.  You  must  find  out  all  lie  knows,  and  you 
must  keep  sober  yourself." 

"  Leave  that  to  me.  I  will  make  of  him  a  sponge  ;  he 
shall  be  squeezed  dry,  and  sopped  again  and  squeezed 
again.  I  will  be  his  confessor." 

"  If  you  find  out  what  I  want,  I  will  give  you "  Del 

Ferice  hesitated ;  he  did  not  mean  to  give  too  much. 

"  The  grey  trousers  ?  "  asked  Temistocle,  with  an  avari 
cious  light  in  the  eye  which  did  not  wander. 

"Yes,"  answered  his  master,  rather  regretfully  ;  "  I  sup 
pose  you  must  have  the  grey  trousers  at  last." 

"  For  those  grey  trousers  I  will  upset  heaven  and  earth," 
returned  Temistocle  in  great  glee. 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  that  day,  but  early  on  the 
following  morning  the  man  entered  and  opened  the  shut 
ters,  and  removed  the  little  oil-light  that  had  burned  all 
night.  He  kept  one  eye  upon  his  master,  who  presently 
turned  slowly  and  looked  inquiringly  at  him. 

"  The  Duchessa  goes  to  Astrardente  in  the  Sabines  on 
the  day  after  to-morrow,"  said  Temistocle.  "  It  is  quite 
sure  that  she  goes,  because  she  has  already  sent  out  two 
pairs  of  horses,  and  several  boxes  of  effects,  besides  the 
second  housemaid  and  the  butler  and  two  grooms." 

"  Ah !  that  is  very  good.  Temistocle,  I  think  I  will 
get  up  this  morning  and  sit  in  the  next  room." 

"  And  the  grey  trousers  ?  " 

"Take  them,  and  wear  them  in  honour  of  the  most 
generous  master  living,"  said  Del  Ferice,  impressively. 
"  It  is  not  every  master  who  gives  his  servant  a  pair  of 
grey  trousers.  Remember  that." 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  Signer  Conte !  "  exclaimed  Temis 
tocle,  devoutly. 

Del  Ferice  lost  no  time.  He  was  terribly  weak  still, 
and  his  wound  was  not  entirely  healed  yet ;  but  he  set 
himself  resolutely  to  his  writing-table,  and  did  not  rise 
until  he  had  written  two  letters.  The  first  was  carefully 
written  in  a  large  round  hand,  such  as  is  used  by  copyists 
in  Italy,  resembling  the  Gothic.  It  was  impossible  to  con-. 


248  SAEACINESCA. 

nect  the  laboriously  formed  and  conventional  letters  with 
any  particular  person.  It  was  very  short,  as  follows : — 

"  It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  the  Duchessa  d'As- 
trardente  is  going  to  her  castle  in  the  Sabines  on  the  day 
after  to-morrow." 

This  laconic  epistle  Del  Perice  carefully  directed  to  Don 
Giovanni  Saracinesca  at  his  palace,  and  fastened  a  stamp 
upon  it ;  but  he  concealed  the  address  from  Temistocle. 
The  second  letter  was  longer,  and  written  in  his  own  small 
and  ornate  handwriting.  It  was  to  Donna  Tullia  Mayer. 
It  ran  thus  : — 

"  You  would  forgive  my  importuning  you  with  a  letter, 
most  charming  Donna  Tullia,  if  you  could  conceive  of  my 
desolation  and  loneliness.  For  more  than  three  weeks  I 
have  been  entirely  deprived  of  the  pleasure,  the  exquisite 
delight,  of  conversing  with  her  for  whom  I  have  suffered. 
I  still  suffer  so  much.  Ah !  if  my  paper  were  a  cloth  of 
gold,  and  my  pen  in  moving  traced  characters  of  diamond 
and  pearl,  yet  any  words  which  speak  of  you  would  be 
ineffectually  honoured  by  such  transcription!  In  the 
miserable  days  and  nights  I  have  passed  between  life  and 
death,  it  is  your  image  which  has  consoled  me,  the  echo 
of  your  delicate  voice  which  has  soothed  my  pain,  the 
remembrance  of  the  last  hours  I  spent  with  you  which  has 
gilded  the  feverish  dreams  of  my  sickness.  You  are  the 
guardian  angel  of  a  most  unhappy  man,  Donna  Tullia. 
Do  you  know  it  ?  But  for  you  I  would  have  wooed  death 
as  a  comforter.  As  it  is,  I  have  struggled  desperately  to 
keep  my  grasp  upon  life,  in  the  hope  of  once  more  seeing 
your  smile  and  hearing  your  happy  laugh;  perhaps — I 
dare  not  expect  it — I  may  receive  from  you  some  slight 
word  of  sympathy,  some  little  half-sighed  hint  that  you  do 
not  altogether  regret  having  been  in  these  long  weeks  the 
unconscious  comforter  of  my  sorrowing  spirit  and  tor 
mented  body.  You  would  hardly  know  me,  could  you 
see  me;  but  saving  for  your  sweet  spiritual  presence, 
which  has  rescued  me  from  the  jaws  of  death,  you  would 


SARACINESCA.  249 

never  have  seen  me  again.  Is  it  presumption  in  me  to 
write  thus  ?  Have  you  ever  given  me  a  right  to  speak 
in  these  words  ?  I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  care.  Man 
has  a  right  to  be  grateful.  It  is  the  first  and  most  divine 
right  I  possess,  to  feel  and  to  express  my  gratitude.  For 
out  of  the  store  of  your  kindness  shown  me  when  I  was 
in  the  world,  strong  and  happy  in  the  privilege  of  your 
society,  I  have  drawn  healing  medicine  in  my  sickness, 
as  tormented  souls  in  purgatory  get  refreshment  from  the 
prayers  of  good  and  kind  people  who  remember  them  on 
earth.  So,  therefore,  if  I  have  said  too  much,  forgive  me, 
forgive  the  heartfelt  gratitude  which  prompts  me ;  and 
believe  still  in  the  respectful  and  undying  devotion  of 
the  humblest  of  your  servants,  UGO  DEL  FEBICE." 

Del  Ferice  read  over  what  he  had  written  with  con 
siderable  satisfaction,  and  having  addressed  his  letter  to 
Donna  Tullia,  he  lost  no  time  in  despatching  Temistocle 
with  it,  instructing  him  to  ask  if  there  would  be  an  answer. 
As  soon  as  the  man'was  out  of  the  house,  Ugo  rang  for 
his  landlady,  and  sent  for  the  porter's  little  boy,  to  whom 
he  delivered  the  letter  to  Don  Giovanni,  to  be  dropped 
into  the  nearest  post-box.  Then  he  lay  down,  exhausted 
with  liis  morning's  work.  In  the  course  of  two  hours 
Temistocle  returned  from  Donna  Tullia's  house  with  a 
little  scented  note — too  much  scented,  and  the  paper  just 
a  shade  too  small.  She  took  no  notice  of  what  he  had 
said  in  his  carefully  penned  epistle ;  but  merely  told  him 
she  was  sincerely  glad  that  he  was  better,  and  asked  him 
to  call  as  soon  as  he  could.  Ugo  was  not  disappointed ; 
he  had  expected  no  compromising  expression  of  interest 
in  response  to  his  own  effusions;  and  he  was  well  pleased 
with  the  invitation,  for  it  showed  that  what  he  had  writ 
ten  had  produced  the  desired  result. 

Don  Giovanni  Saracinesca  received  the  anonymous  note 
late  in  the  evening.  He  had,  of  course,  together  with  his 
father,  deposited  cards  of  condolence  at  the  Palazzo  As- 
trardente,  and  he  had  been  alone  to  inquire  if  the  Duchessa 


250  SAKACINESCA. 

would  receive  him.  The  porter  had  answered  that,  for 
the  present,  there  were  standing  orders  to  admit  no  one ; 
and  as  Giovanni  could  boast  of  no  especial  intimacy,  and 
had  no  valid  excuse  to  give,  he  was  obliged  to  be  satis 
fied.  He  had  patiently  waited  in  the  Villa  Borghese  and 
by  the  band-stand  on  the  Pincio,  taking  it  for  granted 
that  sooner  or  later  Corona's  carriage  would  appear ;  but 
when  at  last  he  had  seen  her  brougham,  she  had  driven 
rapidly  past  him,  thickly  veiled,  and  he  did  not  think  she 
had  even  noticed  him.  He  would  have  written  to  her, 
but  he  was  still  unable  to  hold  a  pen ;  and  he  reflected 
that,  after  all,  it  would  have  been  a  hideous  farce  for 
him  to  offer  condolences  and  sympathy,  however  much 
he  might  desire  to  hide  from  himself  his  secret  satisfac 
tion  at  her  husband's  death.  Too  proud  to  think  of  ob 
taining  information  through  such  base  channels  as  Del 
Ferice  was  willing  to  use,  he  was  wholly  ignorant  of 
Corona's  intentions ;  and  it  was  a  brilliant  proof  of  Ugo's 
astuteness  that  he  had  rightly  judged  Giovanni's  position 
with  regard  to  her,  and  justly  estimated  the  value  of  the 
news  conveyed  by  his  anonymous  note. 

Saracinesca  read  the  scrap  of  writing,  and  tossed  it 
angrily  into  the  fire.  He  hated  underhand  dealings,  and 
scorned  himself  for  the  interest  the  note  excited  in  him, 
wondering  who  could  »find  advantage  in  informing  him  of 
the  Duchessa's  movements.  But  the  note  took  effect, 
nevertheless,  although  he  was  ashamed  of  it,  and  all 
night  he  pondered  upon  what  it  told  him.  The  next  day, 
at  three  o'clock,  he  went  out  alone,  and  walked  rapidly 
towards  the  Palazzo  Astrardente.  He  was  unable  to 
bear  the  suspense  any  longer ;  the  thought  that  Corona 
was  going  away,  apparently  to  shut  herself  up  in  the  soli 
tude  of  the  ancient  fortress,  for  any  unknown  number  of 
months,  and  that  he  might  not  see  her  until  the  autumn, 
was  intolerable.  He  knew  that  by  the  mere  use  of  his 
name  he  could  at  least  make  sure  that  she  should  know 
he  was  at  her  door,  and  he  determined  to  make  the  at 
tempt.  He  waited  a  long  time,  pacing  slowly  the  broad 


SAKACINESCA.  251 

flagstones  beneath  the  arch  of  the  palace,  while  the  por 
ter  himself  went  up  with  his  card  and  message.  The 
fellow  had  hesitated,  but  Don  Giovanni  Saracinesca  was 
not  a  man  to  be  refused  by  a  servant.  At  last  the  porter 
returned,  and,  bowing  to  the  ground,  said  that  the  Signora 
Duchessa  would  receive  him. 

In  five  minutes  he  was  waiting  alone  in  the  great  draw 
ing-room.  It  had  cost  Corona  a  struggle  to  allow  him  to 
be  admitted.  She  hesitated  long,  for  it  seemed  like  a 
positive  wrong  to  her  husband's  memory,  but  the  woman 
in  her  yielded  at  last ;  she  was  going  away  on  the  follow 
ing  morning,  and  she  could  not  refuse  to  see  him  for  once. 
She  hesitated  again  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the  latch 
of  the  door,  knowing  that  he  was  in  the  room  beyond ; 
then  at  last  she  entered. 

Her  face  was  very  pale  and  very  grave.  Her  simple 
gown  of  close-fitting  black  set  off  her  height  and  figure, 
and  flowed  softly  in  harmony  with  her  stately  movements 
as  she  advanced  towards  Giovanni,  who  stood  almost  awe 
struck  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  He  could  not  realise 
that  this  dark  sad  princess  was  the  same  woman  to  whom 
less  than  a  month  ago  he  had  spoken  such  passionate 
words,  whom  he  had  madly  tried  to  take  into  his  arms. 
Proud  as  he  was,  it  seemed  presumptuous  in  him  to  think 
of  love  in  connection  with  so  royal  a  woman ;  and  yet  he 
knew  that  he  loved  her  better  and  more  truly  than  he 
had  done  a  month  before.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  him, 
and  he  raised  it  to  his  lips.  Then  they  both  sat  down  in 
silence. 

"  I  had  despaired  of  ever  seeing  you  again/'  said  Gio 
vanni  at  last,  speaking  in  a  subdued  voice.  "  I  had  wished 
for  some  opportunity  of  telling  you  how  sincerely  I  sym 
pathise  with  you  in  your  great  loss/'  It  was  a  very  formal 
speech,  such  as  men  make  in  such  situations.  It  might 
have  been  better,  but  he  was  not  eloquent ;  even  his  rough 
old  father  had  a  better  command  of  language  on  ordinary 
occasions,  though  Giovanni  could  speak  well  enough  when 
he  was  roused.  But  he  felt  constrained  in  the  presence 


252  SARACINESCA. 

of  the  woman  he  adored.  Corona  herself  hardly  knew 
how  to  answer. 

"  You  are  very  kind/'  she  said,  simply. 

"  I  wish  it  were  possible  to  be  of  any  service  to  you," 
he  answered.  "  I  need  not  tell  you  that  both  my  father 
and  myself  would  hold  it  an  honour  to  assist  you  in  any 
way."  He  mentioned  his  father  from  a  feeling  of  deli 
cacy  ;  he  did  not  wish  to  put  himself  forward. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  repeated  Corona,  gravely.  "I 
have  not  had  any  annoyance.  I  have  an  excellent  man 
of  business." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  she  seemed  to 
understand  that  he  was  embarrassed,  and  spoke  again. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  are  recovered,"  she  said. 

"  It  was  nothing,"  answered  Giovanni,  with  a  glance 
at  his  right  arm,  which  was  still  confined  in  a  bandage 
of  black  silk,  but  was  no  longer  in  a  sling. 

"  It  was  very  wrong  of  you,"  returned  Corona,  looking 
seriously  into  his  eyes.  "  I  do  not  know  why  you  fought, 
but  it  was  wrong ;  it  is  a  great  sin." 

Giovanni  smiled  a  little. 

"  We  all  have  to  sin  sometimes,"  he  said.  "  Would  you 
have  me  stand  quietly  and  see  an  abominable  piece  of 
baseness,  and  not  lift  a  hand  to  punish  the  offender  ?  " 

"  People  who  do  base  things  always  come  to  a  bad  end," 
answered  the  Duchessa. 

"Perhaps.  But  we  poor  sinners  are  impatient  to  see 
justice  done  at  once.  I  am  sorry  to  have  done  anything 
you  consider  wrong,"  he  added,  with  a  shade  of  bitter 
ness.  "  Will  you  permit  me  to  change  the  subject  ?  Are 
you  thinking  of  remaining  in  Rome,  or  do  you  mean  to 
go  away  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  up  to  Astrardente  to-morrow,"  answered 
Corona,  readily.  "  I  want  to  be  alone  and  in  the  country." 

Giovanni  showed  no  surprise  :  his  anonymous  informa 
tion  had  been  accurate  ;  Del  Ferice  had  not  parted  with 
the  grey  trousers  in  vain. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  he  said.    "  But  at  this  time 


SAEACINESCA.  253 

of  year  I  should  think  the  mountains  would  be  very 
cold." 

"  The  castle  is  comfortable.  It  has  been  recently  fitted 
up,  and  there  are  many  warm  rooms  in  it.  I  am  fond  of 
the  old  place,  and  I  need  to  be  alone  for  a  long  time." 

Giovanni  thought  the  conversation  was  becoming  op 
pressive.  He  thought  of  what  had  passed  between  them 
at  their  last  meeting  in  the  conservatory  of  the  Palazzo 
Frangipani. 

"  I  shall  myself  pass  the  summer  in  Saracinesca,"  he 
said,  suddenly.  "  You  know  it  is  not  very  far.  May  I 
hope  that  I  may  sometimes  be  permitted  to  see  you  ?  " 

Corona  had  certainly  had  no  thought  of  seeing  Gio 
vanni  when  she  had  determined  to  go  to  Astrardente ; 
she  had  not  been  there  often,  and  had  not  realised  that 
it  was  within  reach  of  the  Saracinesca  estate.  She 
started  slightly. 

"  Is  it  so  near  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Half  a  day's  ride  over  the  hills/'  replied  Giovanni. 

"  I  did  not  know.  Of  course,  if  you  come,  you  will  not 
be  denied  hospitality." 

"  But  you  would  rather  not  see  me  ?  "  asked  Saracin 
esca,  in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  He  had  hoped  for 
something  more  encouraging.  Corona  answered  courage 
ously. 

"  I  would  rather  not  see  you.  Do  not  think  me  un 
kind,"  she  added,  her  voice  softening  a  little.  "Why 
need  there  be  any  explanations  ?  Do  not  try  to  see  me. 
I  wish  you  well ;  I  wish  you  more — all  happiness — but 
do  not  try  to  see  me." 

Giovanni's  face  grew  grave  and  pale.  He  was  dis 
appointed,  even  humiliated  ;  but  something  told  him  that 
it  was  not  coldness  which  prompted  her  request. 

"  Your  commands  are  my  laws,"  he  answered. 

"  I  would  rather  that  instead  of  regarding  what  I  ask 
you  as  a  command,  you  should  feel  that  it  ought  to  be 
the  natural  prompting  of  your  own  heart,"  replied  Corona, 
somewhat  coldly. 


254  SARACINESCA. 

f<  Forgive  me  if  my  heart  dictates  what  my  obedience 
to  you  must  effectually  forbid,"  said  Giovanni.  "I 
beseech  you  to  be  satisfied  that  what  you  ask  I  will  per 
form — blindly." 

"  Not  blindly — you  know  all  my  reasons." 

"  There  is  that  between  you  and  me  which  annihilates 
reason,"  answered  Giovanni,  his  voice  trembling  a  little. 

"  There  is  that  in  my  position  which  should  command 
your  respect,"  said  Corona.  She  feared  he  was  going  too 
far,  and  yet  this  time  she  knew  she  had  not  said  too 
much,  and  that  in  bidding  him  avoid  her,  she  was  only 
doing  what  was  strictly  necessary  for  her  peace.  "  I  am 
a  widow,"  she  continued,  very  gravely  ;  "I  am  a  woman, 
and  I  am  alone.  My  only  protection  lies  in  the  courtesy 
I  have  a  right  to  expect  from  men  like  you.  You  have 
expressed  your  sympathy;  show  it  then  by  cheerfully 
fulfilling  my  request.  I  do  not  speak  in  riddles,  but  very 
plainly.  You  recall  to  me  a  moment  of  great  pain,  and 
your  presence,  the  mere  fact  of  my  receiving  you,  seems  a 
disloyalty  to  the  memory  of  my  husband.  I  have  given 
you  no  reason  to  believe  that  I  ever  took  a  greater 
interest  in  you  than  such  as  I  might  take  in  a  friend.  I 
hourly  pray  that  this — this  too  great  interest  you  show 
in  me,  may  pass  quickly,  and  leave  you  what  you  were 
before.  You  see  I  do  not  speak  darkly,  and  I  do  not 
mean  to  speak  unkindly.  Do  not  answer  me,  I  beseech 
you,  but  take  this  as  my  last  word.  Forget  me  if  you 
can " 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Giovanni,  deeply  moved. 

"  Try.  If  you  cannot,  God  help  you !  but  I  am  sure 
that  if  you  try  faithfully,  you  will  succeed.  And  now 
you  must  go,"  she  said,  in  gentler  tones.  "  You  should 
not  have  come — I  should  not  have  let  you  see  me.  But 
it  is  best  so.  I  am  grateful  for  the  sympathy  you  have 
expressed.  I  do  not  doubt  that  you  will  do  as  I  have 
asked  you,  and  as  you  have  promised.  Good-bye." 

Corona  rose  to  her  feet,  her  hands  folded  before  her. 
Giovanni  had  no  choice.  She  let  her  eyes  rest  upon  him, 


SABACINESCA.  255 

not  unkindly,  but  she  did  not  extend  her  hand.  He 
stood  one  moment  in  hesitation,  then  bowed  and  left  the 
room  without  a  word.  Corona  stood  still,  and  her  eyes 
followed  his  retreating  figure  until  at  the  door  he  turned 
once  more  and  bent  his  head  and  then  was  gone.  Then 
she  fell  back  into  her  chair  and  gazed  listlessly  at  the 
wall  opposite. 

"  It  is  done,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  hope  it  is  well  done 
and  wisely."  Indeed  it  had  been  a  hard  thing  to  say ; 
but  it  was  better  to  say  it  at  once  than  to  regret  an  ill- 
timed  indulgence  when  it  should  be  too  late.  And  yet  it 
had  cost  her  less  to  send  him  away  definitely  than  it  had 
cost  her  to  resist  his  passionate  appeal  a  month  ago.  She 
seemed  to  have  gained  strength  from  her  sorrows.  So  he 
was  gone  !  She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  which  was  instantly 
followed  by  a  sharp  throb  of  pain,  so  sudden  that  she 
hardly  understood  it. 

Her  preparations  were  all  made.  She  had  at  the  last 
moment  realised  that  it  was  not  fitting  for  her,  at  her  age, 
to  travel  alone,  nor  to  live  wholly  alone  in  her  widowhood. 
She  had  revolved  the  matter  in  her  mind,  and  had  decided 
that  there  was  no  woman  of  her  acquaintance  whom  she 
could  ask  even  for  a  short  time  to  stay  with  her.  She 
had  no  friends,  no  relations,  none  to  turn  to  in  such  a 
need.  It  was  not  that  she  cared  for  company  in  her  soli 
tude  ;  it  was  merely  a  question  of  propriety.  To  over 
come  the  difficulty,  she  obtained  permission  to  take  with 
her  one  of  the  sisters  of  a  charitable  order  of  nuns,  a  lady 
in  middle  life,  but  broken  down  and  in  ill  health  from 
her  untiring  labours.  The  thing  was  easily  managed; 
and  the  next  morning,  on  leaving  the  palace,  she  stopped 
at  the  gate  of  the  community  and  found  Sister  Gabrielle 
waiting  with  her  modest  box.  The  nun  entered  the 
huge  travelling  carriage,  and  the  two  ladies  set  out  for 
Astrardente. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  Carnival,  and  a  memorably  sad 
one  for  G-iovanni  Saracinesca.  He  would  have  been  cap 
able  of  leaving  Rome  at  once,  but  that  he  had  promised 


256  SARACINESCA. 

Corona  not  to  attempt  to  see  her.  He  would  have  gone 
to  Saracinesca  for  the  mere  sake  of  being  nearer  to  her, 
had  he  not  reflected  that  he  would  be  encouraging  all  man 
ner  of  gossip  by  so  doing.  But  he  determined  that  so 
soon  as  Lent  began,  he  would  declare  his  intention  of 
leaving  the  city  for  a  year.  No  one  ever  went  to  Sara 
cinesca,  and  by  making  a  circuit  he  could  reach  the  an 
cestral  castle  without  creating  suspicion.  He  might  even 
go  to  Paris  for  a  few  days,  and  have  it  supposed  that  he 
was  wandering  about  Europe,  for  he  could  trust  his  own 
servants  implicitly ;  they  were  not  of  the  type  who  would 
drink  wine  at  a  tavern  with  Temistocle  or  any  of  his 
class. 

The  old  Prince  came  into  his  son's  room  in  the  morning 
and  found  him.  disconsolately  looking  over  his  guns,  for 
the  sake  of  an  occupation. 

"  Well,  Giovanni,"  he  said,  "  you  have  time  to  reflect 
upon  your  future  conduct.  What !  are  you  going  upon 
a  shooting  expedition  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  could.  I  wish  I  could  find  anything  to  do," 
answered  Giovanni,  laying  down  the  breech-loader  and 
looking  out  of  the  window.  "  The  world  is  turned  inside 
out  like  a  beggar's  pocket,  and  there  is  nothing  in  it." 

"  So  the  Astrardente  is  gone,"  remarked  the  Prince. 

"  Yes ;  gone  to  live  within  twenty  miles  of  Saracinesca," 
replied  Giovanni,  with  an  angry  intonation. 

"Bo  not  go  there  yet,"  said  his  father.  "Leave  her 
alone  a  while.  Women  become  frantic  in  solitude." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  an  idiot  ?  "  exclaimed  Giovanni. 
"  Of  course  I  shall  stay  where  I  am  till  Carnival  is  over." 
He  was  not  in  a  good  humour. 

"  Why  are  you  so  petulant  ?  "  retorted  the  old  man. 
"  I  merely  gave  you  my  advice." 

"Well,  I  am  going  to  follow  it.  It  is  good.  When 
Carnival  is  over  I  will  go  away,  and  perhaps  get  to  Sara 
cinesca  by  a  roundabout  way,  so  that  no  one  will  know 
where  I  am.  Will  you  not  come  too  ?  " 

"I  daresay,"  answered  the  Prince,  who  was  always 


SAKACINESCA.  257 

pleased  when  his  son  expressed  a  desire  for  his  company. 
"  I  wish  we  lived  in  the  good  old  times." 

"Why?" 

"  We  would  make  small  scruple  of  besieging  Astrardente 
and  carrying  off  the  Duchessa  for  you,  my  boy,"  said  the 
Prince,  grimly. 

Giovanni  laughed.  Perhaps  the  same  idea  had  crossed 
his  mind.  He  was  not  quite  sure  whether  it  was  respect 
ful  to  Corona  to  think  of  carrying  her  off  in  the  way  his 
father  suggested  ;  but  there  was  a  curious  flavour  of  possi 
bility  in  the  suggestion,  coming  as  it  did  from  a  man  whose 
grandfather  might  have  done  such  a  thing,  and  whose 
great-grandfather  was  said  to  have  done  it.  So  strong 
are  the  instincts  of  barbaric  domination  in  races  where 
the  traditions  of  violence  exist  in  an  unbroken  chain,  that 
both  father  and  son  smiled  at  the  idea  as  if  it  were  quite 
natural,  although  Giovanni  had  only  the  previous  day 
promised  that  he  would  not  even  attempt  to  see  Corona 
d' Astrardente  without  her  permission.  He  did  not  tell 
his  father  of  his  promise,  however,  for  his  more  delicate 
instinct  made  him  sure  that  though  he  had  acted  rightly, 
his  father  would  laugh  at  his  scruples,  and  tell  him  that 
women  liked  to  be  wooed  roughly. 

Meanwhile  Giovanni  felt  that  Rome  had  become  for 
him  a  vast  solitude,  and  the  smile  soon  faded  from  his 
face  at  the  thought  that  he  must  go  out  into  the  world, 
and  for  Corona's  sake  act  as  though  nothing  had  hap 
pened. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Poor  Madame  Mayer  was  in  great  anxiety  of  mind. 
She  had  not  a  great  amount  of  pride,  but  she  made  up  for 
it  by  a  plentiful  endowment  of  vanity,  in  which  she  suf 
fered  acutely.  She  was  a  good-natured  woman  enough, 
and  by  nature  she  was  not  vindictive ;  but  she  could  not 


258  SARACINESCA. 

help  being  jealous,  for  she  was  in  love.  She  felt  how 
Giovanni  every  day  evidently  cared  less  and  less  for  her 
society,  and  how,  on  the  other  hand,  Del  Ferice  was  quietly 
assuring  his  position,  so  that  people  already  began  to  whis 
per  that  he  had  a  chance  of  becoming  her  husband.  She 
did  not  dislike  Del  Ferice ;  he  was  a  convenient  man  of 
the  world,  whom  she  always  found  ready  to  help  her  when 
she  needed  help.  But  by  dint  of  making  use  of  him,  she 
was  beginning  to  feel  in  some  way  bound  to  consider  him 
as  an  element  in  her  life,  and  she  did  not  like  the  position. 
The  letter  he  had  written  her  was  of  the  kind  a  man  might 
write  to  the  woman  he  loved ;  it  bordered  upon  the  fa 
miliar,  even  while  the  writer  expressed  himself  in  terms 
of  exaggerated  respect.  Perhaps  if  Del  Ferice  had  been 
well,  she  would  have  simply  taken  no  notice  of  what  he 
had  written,  and  would  not  even  have  sent  an  answer ; 
but  she  had  not  the  heart  to  repulse  him  altogether  in  his 
present  condition.  There  was  a  phrase  cunningly  intro 
duced  and  ambiguously  worded,  which  seemed  to  mean 
that  he  had  come  by  his  wound  in  her  cause.  He  spoke 
of  having  suffered  and  of  still  suffering  so  much  for  her,— 
did  he  mean  to  refer  to  pain  of  body  or  of  mind  ?  It  was 
not  certain.  Don  Giovanni  had  assured  her  that  she  was 
in  no  way  concerned  in  the  duel,  and  he  was  well  known 
for  his  honesty ;  nevertheless,  out  of  delicacy,  he  might 
have  desired  to  conceal  the  truth  from  her.  It  seemed 
like  him.  She  longed  for  an  opportunity  of  talking  with 
him  and  eliciting  some  explanation  of  his  conduct.  There 
had  been  a  time  when  he  used  to  visit  her,  and  always 
spent  some  time  in  her  society  when  they  met  in  the 
world — now,  on  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  avoid  her 
whenever  he  could ;  and  in  proportion  as  she  noticed  that 
his  manner  cooled,  her  own  jealousy  against  Corona  d'As- 
trardente  increased  in  force,  until  at  last  it  seemed  to 
absorb  her  love  for  Giovanni  into  itself  and  turn  it  into 
hate. 

Love  is  a  passion  which,  like  certain  powerful  drugs, 
acts  differently  upon  each  different  constitution  of  temper  j 


SAKACINBSCA.  259 

love  also  acts  more  strongly  when  it  is  nnreturned  or 
thwarted  than  when  it  is  mutual  and  uneventful.  If  two 
persons  love  each  other  truly,  and  there  is  no  obstacle  to 
their  union,  it  is  probable  that,  without  any  violent  emo 
tion,  their  love  will  grow  and  become  stronger  by  imper 
ceptible  degrees,  without  changing  in  its  natural  quality  j 
but  if  thwarted  by  untoward  circumstances,  the  passion, 
if  true,  attains  suddenly  to  the  dimensions  which  it  would 
otherwise  need  years  to  reach.  It  sometimes  happens  that 
the  nature  in  which  this  unforeseen  and  abnormal  develop 
ment  takes  place  is  unable  to  bear  the  precocious  growth ; 
then,  losing  sight  of  its  identity  in  the  strange  inward 
confusion  of  heart  and  mind  which  ensues,  it  is  driven  to 
madness,  and,  breaking  every  barrier,  either  attains  its 
object  at  a  single  bound,  or  is  shivered  and  ruined  in 
dashing  itself  against  the  impenetrable  wall  of  complete 
impossibility.  But  again,  in  the  last  case,  when  love  is 
wholly  unreturned,  it  dies  a  natural  death  of  atrophy, 
when  it  has  existed  in  a  person  of  common  and  average 
nature ;  or  if  the  man  or  woman  so  afflicted  be  proud  and 
of  noble  instincts,  the  passion  becomes  a  kind  of  religion 
to  the  heart — sacred,  and  worthy  to  be  guarded  from  the 
eyes  of  the  world ;  or,  finally,  again,  where  it  finds  vanity 
the  dominant  characteristic  of  the  being  in  whom  it  has 
grown,  it  draws  a  poisonous  life  from  the  unhealthy  soil 
on  which  it  is  fed,  and  the  tender  seed  of  love  shoots  and 
puts  forth  evil  leaves  and  blossoms,  and  grows  to  be  a 
most  venomous  tree,  which  is  the  tree  of  hatred. 

Donna  Tullia  was  certainly  a  woman  who  belonged  to 
the  latter  class  of  individuals.  She  had  qualities  which 
were  perhaps  good  because  not  bad ;  but  the  mainspring 
of  her  being  was  an  inordinate  vanity ;  and  it  was  in  this 
characteristic  that  she  was  most  deeply  wounded,  as  she 
found  herself  gradually  abandoned  by  Giovanni  Saracin- 
esca.  She  had  been  in  the  habit  of  thinking  of  him  as  a 
probable  husband ;  the  popular  talk  had  fostered  the  idea, 
and  occasional  hints,  and  smiling  questions  concerning 
him,  had  made  her  feel  that  he  could  not  long  hang  back. 


260  SARACINESCA. 

She  had  been  in  the  habit  of  treating  him  familiarly ;  and 
he,  tutored  by  his  father  to  the  belief  that  she  was  the 
best  match  for  him,  and  reluctantly  yielding  to  the  force 
of  circumstances,  which  seemed  driving  him  into  matri 
mony,  had  suffered  himself  to  be  ordered  about  and  made 
use  of  with  an  indifference  which,  in  Madame  Mayer's 
eyes,  had  passed  for  consent.  She  had  watched  with 
growing  fear  and  jealousy  his  devotion  to  the  Astrar- 
dente,  which  all  the  world  had  noticed ;  and  at  last  her 
anger  had  broken  out  at  the  affront  she  had  received  at 
the  Frangipani  ball.  But  even  then  she  loved  Giovanni 
in  her  own  vain  way.  It  was  not  till  Corona  was  sud 
denly  left  a  widow,  that  Donna  Tullia  began  to  realise  the 
hopelessness  of  her  position ;  and  when  she  found  how 
determinately  Saracinesca  avoided  her  wherever  they 
met,  the  affection  she  had  hitherto  felt  for  him  turned 
into  a  bitter  hatred,  stronger  even  than  her  jealousy 
against  the  Duchessa.  There  was  no  scene  of  explana 
tion  between  them,  no  words  passed,  no  dramatic  situation, 
such  as  Donna  Tullia  loved ;  the  change  came  in  a  few 
days,  and  was  complete.  She  had  not  even  the  satisfac 
tion  of  receiving  some  share  of  the  attention  Giovanni 
would  have  bestowed  upon  Corona  if  she  had  been  in 
town.  Not  only  had  he  grown  utterly  indifferent  to  her ; 
he  openly  avoided  her,  and  thereby  inflicted  upon  her 
vanity  the  cruellest  wound  she  was  capable  of  feeling. 

With  Donna  Tullia  to  hate  was  to  injure,  to  long  for 
revenge — not  of  the  kind  which  is  enjoyed  in  secret,  and 
known  only  to  the  person  who  suffers  and  the  person  who 
causes  the  suffering.  She  did  not  care  for  that  so  much 
as  she  desired  some  brilliant  triumph  over  her  enemies 
before  the  world ;  some  startling  instance  of  poetic  jus 
tice,  which  should  at  one  blow  do  a  mortal  injury  to 
Corona  d'Astrardente,  and  bring  Giovanni  Saracinesca  to 
her  own  feet  by  force,  repentant  and  crushed,  to  be  dealt 
with  as  she  saw  fit,  according  to  his  misdeeds.  But  she 
had  chosen  her  adversaries  ill,  and  her  heart  misgave  her. 
had  no  hold  upon  them,  for  they  were  very  strong 


SARACmESCA.  261 

people,  very  powerful,  and  very  much  respected  by  their 
fellows.  It  was  not  easy  to  bring  them  into  trouble ;  it 
seemed  impossible  to  humiliate  them  as  she  wished  to  do, 
and  yet  her  hate  was  very  strong.  She  waited  and  pon 
dered,  and  in  the  meanwhile,  when  she  met  Giovanni, 
she  began  to  treat  him  with  haughty  coldness.  But  Gio 
vanni  smiled,  and  seemed  well  satisfied  that  she  should 
at  last  give  over  what  was  to  him  very  like  a  persecution. 
Her  anger  grew  hotter  from  its  very  impotence.  The 
world  saw  it,  and  laughed. 

The  days  of  Carnival  came  and  passed,  much  as  they 
usually  pass,  in  a  whirl  of  gaiety.  Giovanni  went  every 
where,  and  showed  his  grave  face ;  but  he  talked  little, 
and  of  course  every  one  said  he  was  melancholy  at  the 
departure  of  the  Duchessa.  Nevertheless  he  kept  up  an 
appearance  of  interest  in  what  was  done,  and  as  nobody 
cared  to  risk  asking  him  questions,  people  left  him  in 
peace.  The  hurrying  crowd  of  social  life  filled  up  the 
place  occupied  by  old  Astrardente  and  the  beautiful 
Duchessa,  and  they  were  soon  forgotten,  for  they  had 
not  had  many  intimate  friends. 

On  the  last  night  of  Carnival,  Del  Ferice  appeared 
once  more.  He  had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  temptation 
of  getting  one  glimpse  of  the  world  he  loved,  before  the 
wet  blanket  of  Lent  extinguished  the  lights  of  the  ball 
rooms  and  the  jollity  of  the  dancers.  Every  one  was  sur 
prised  to  see  him,  and  most  people  were  pleased ;  he  was 
such  a  useful  man,  that  he  had  often  been  missed  during 
the  time  of  his  illness.  He  was  improved  in  appearance ; 
for  though  he  was  very  pale,  he  had  grown  also  extremely 
thin,  and  his  features  had  gained  delicacy. 

When  Giovanni  saw  him,  he  went  up  to  him,  and  the 
two  men  exchanged  a  formal  salutation,  while  every  one 
stood  still  for  a  moment  to  see  the  meeting.  It  was  over 
in  a  moment,  and  society  gave  a  little  sigh  of  relief,  as 
though  a  weight  were  removed  from  its  mind.  Then  Del 
Ferice  went  to  Donna  Tullia's  side.  They  were  soon  alone 
upon  a  small  sofa  in  a  small  room,  whither  a  couple  strayed 

Vol.  10—12 


262  SARACINESCA. 

now  and  then  to  remain  a  few  minutes  before  returning  to 
the  ball.  A  few  people  passed  through,  but  for  more  than 
an  hour  they  were  not  disturbed. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Donna  Tullia;  "but 
I  had  hoped  that  the  first  time  you  went  out  you  would 
have  come  to  my  house." 

"This  is  the  first  time  I  have  been  out — you  see  I 
should  not  have  found  you  at  home,  since  I  have  found 
you  here." 

"Are  you  entirely  recovered  ?    You  still  look  ill." 

"  I  am  a  little  weak — but  an  hour  with  you  will  do  me 
more  good  than  all  the  doctors  in  the  world." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  with  a  little  laugh.  "  It 
was  strange  to  see  you  shaking  hands  with  Giovanni  Sara- 
cinesca  just  now.  I  suppose  men  have  to  do  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  would  not  have  done  it  unless  it 
had  been  necessary,"  returned  Del  Ferice,  bitterly. 

"  I  should  think  not.     What  an  arrogant  man  he  is  ! " 

"You  no  longer  like  him?"  asked  Del  Ferice,  inno 
cently. 

"  Like  him !  No ;  I  never  liked  him,"  replied  Donna 
Tullia,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  I  thought  you  did ;  I  used  to  wonder  at  it."  Ugo 
grew  thoughtful. 

"  I  was  always  good  to  him,"  said  Donna  Tullia.  "  But 
of  course  I  can  never  forgive  him  for  what  he  did  at  the 
Frangipani  ball." 

"  No ;  nor  I,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  readily.  "  I  shall 
always  hate  him  for  that  too." 

"  I  do  not  say  that  I  exactly  hate  him." 

"You  have  every  reason.  It  appears  to  me  that  since 
my  illness  we  have  another  idea  in  common,  another  bond 
of  sympathy."  Del  Ferice  spoke  almost  tenderly ;  but 
he  laughed  immediately  afterwards,  as  though  not  wish 
ing  his  words  to  be  interpreted  too  seriously.  Donna 
Tullia  smiled  too ;  she  was  inclined  to  be  very  kind  to 
him. 


SA3ACINESCA.  263 

"  You  are  very  quick  to  jump  at  conclusions,"  she  said, 
playing  with  her  red  fan  and  looking  down. 

"  It  is  always  easy  to  reach  that  pleasant  conclusion— 
that  you  and  I  are  in  sympathy,"  he  answered,  with  a 
tender  glance,  "even  in  regard  to  hating  the  same  person. 
The  bond  would  be  close  indeed,  if  it  depended  on  the 
opposite  of  hate.  And  yet  I  sometimes  think  it  does. 
Are  you  not  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know, — I  am  a  good  friend  to  you,"  she 
answered. 

"  Indeed  you  are ;  but  do  you  not  think  it  would  be 
possible  to  cement  our  friendship  even  more  closely 
yet?" 

Donna  Tullia  looked  up  sharply;  she  had  no  idea  of 
allowing  him  to  propose  to  marry  her.  His  face,  however, 
was  grave — unlike  his  usual  expression  when  he  meant  to 
be  tender,  and  which  she  knew  very  well. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  with  a  light  laugh.  "How 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  If  I  could  do  you  some  great  service — if  I  could  by 
any  means  satisfy  what  is  now  your  chief  desire  in  life — 
would  not  that  help  to  cement  our  friendship,  as  I  said  ?  " 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered,  thoughtfully.  "But  then 
you  do  not  know — you  cannot  guess  even — what  I  most 
wish  at  this  moment." 

"  I  think  I  could,"  said  Del  Ferice,  fixing  his  eyes  upon 
her.  "  I  am  sure  I  could,  but  I  will  not.  I  should  risk 
offending  you." 

"No;  I  will  not  be  angry.  You  may  guess  if  you 
please."  Donna  Tullia  in  her  turn  looked  fixedly  at  her 
companion.  They  seemed  trying  to  read  each  other's 
thoughts. 

"Very  well,"  said  Ugo  at  last,  "I  will  tell  you.  You 
would  like  to  see  the  Astrardente  dead  and  Giovanni 
Saracinesca  profoundly  humiliated." 

Donna  Tullia  started.  But  indeed  there  was  nothing 
strange  in  her  companion's  knowledge  of  her  feelings. 
Many  people,  being  asked  what  she  felt,  would  very  likely 


264  SARACINESCA. 

have  said  the  same,  for  the  world  had  seen  her  discomfit 
ure  and  had  laughed  at  it. 

"  You  are  a  very  singular  man,"  she  said,  uneasily. 

"In  other  words,"  replied  Del  Ferice,  calmly,  "I  am 
perfectly  right  in  my  surmises.  I  see  it  in  your  face. 
Of  course,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh,  "  it  is  mere  jest.  But 
the  thing  is  quite  possible.  If  I  fulfilled  your  desire  of 
just  and  poetic  vengeance,  what  would  you  give  me  ?  " 

Donna  Tullia  laughed  in  her  turn,  to  conceal  the  ex 
treme  interest  she  felt  in  what  he  said. 

"  Whatever  you  like,"  she  said.  But  even  while  the 
laugh  was  on  her  lips  her  eyes  sought  his  uneasily. 

"  Would  you  marry  me,  for  instance,  as  the  enchanted 
princess  in  the  fairy  story  marries  the  prince  who  frees 
her  from  the  spell  ?  "  He  seemed  immensely  amused  at 
the  idea. 

"Why  not?"  she  laughed. 

"  It  would  be  the  only  just  recompense,"  he  answered. 
"  See  how  impossible  the  thing  appears.  And  yet  a  few 
pounds  of  dynamite  would  blow  up  the  Great  Pyramid. 
Giovanni  Saracinesca  is  not  so  strong  as  he  looks." 

"  Oh,  I  would  not  have  him  hurt !  "  exclaimed  Donna 
Tullia  in  alarm. 

"  I  do  not  mean  physically,  nor  morally,  but  socially." 

"How?" 

"  That  is  my  secret,"  returned  Del  Ferice,  quietly. 

"It  sounds  as  though  you  were  pretending  to  know 
more  than  you  really  do,"  she  answered. 

"No;  it  is  the  plain  truth,"  said  Del  Ferice,  quietly. 
"  If  you  were  in  earnest  I  might  be  willing  to  tell  you 
what  the  secret  is,  but  for  a  mere  jest  I  cannot.  It  is  far 
too  serious  a  matter." 

His  tone  convinced  Donna  Tullia  that  he  really  pos 
sessed  some  weapon  which  he  could  use  against  Don  Gio 
vanni  if  he  pleased.  She  wondered  only  why,  if  it  were 
true,  he  did  not  use  it,  seeing  that  he  must  hate  Saracinesca 
with  all  his  heart.  Del  Ferice  knew  so  much  about 
people,  so  many  strange  and  forgotten  stories,  he  had  so 


SARACINESCA.  265 

accurate  a  memory  and  so  acute  an  intelligence,  that  it 
was  by  no  means  impossible  that  he  was  in  possession  of 
some  secret  connected  with  the  Saracinesca.  They  were, 
or  were  thought  to  be,  wild,  unruly  men,  both  father  and 
son;  there  were  endless  stories  about  them  both;  and 
there  was  nothing  more  likely  than  that,  in  his  numerous 
absences  from  home,  Giovanni  had  at  one  time  or  another 
figured  in  some  romantic  affair,  which  he  would  be  sorry 
to  have  had  generally  known.  Del  Ferice  was  wise  enough 
to  keep  his  own  counsel ;  but  now  that  his  hatred  was 
thoroughly  roused,  he  might  very  likely  make  use  of  the 
knowledge  he  possessed.  Donna  Tullia's  curiosity  was 
excited  to  its  highest  pitch,  and  at  the  same  time  she  had 
pleasant  visions  of  the  possible  humiliation  of  the  man  by 
whom  she  felt  herself  so  ill-used.  It  would  be  worth 
while  making  the  sacrifice  in  order  to  learn  Del  Ferice's 
secret. 

"  This  need  not  be  a  mere  jest,"  she  said,  after  a  mo 
ment's  silence. 

"  That  is  as  you  please,"  returned  Del  Ferice,  seriously. 
"  If  you  are  willing  to  do  your  part,  you  may  be  sure 
that  I  will  do  mine." 

"You  cannot  think  I  really  meant  what  I  said  just 
now,"  replied  Donna  Tullia.  "It  would  be  madness." 

"  Why  ?  Am  I  halt,  am  I  lame,  am  I  blind  ?  Am  I 
repulsively  ugly  ?  Am  I  a  pauper,  that  I  should  care  for 
your  money  ?  Have  I  not  loved  you — yes,  loved  you 
long  and  faithfully  ?  Am  I  too  old  ?  Is  there  anything 
in  the  nature  of  things  why  I  should  not  aspire  to  be 
your  husband  ?  " 

It  was  strange.  He  spoke  calmly,  as  though  enumerat 
ing  the  advantages  of  a  friend.  Donna  Tullia  looked  at 
him  for  a  moment,  and  then  laughed  outright. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  all  that  is  very  true.  You  may  as 
pire,  as  you  call  it.  The  question  is,  whether  I  shall 
aspire  too.  Of  course,  if  we  happened  to  agree  in  aspir 
ing,  we  could  be  married  to-morrow." 

"  Precisely,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  perfectly  unmoved. 


266  SABACINESCA. 

"  I  am  not  proposing  to  marry  you.  I  am  arguing  the 
case.  There  is  this  in  the  case  which  is  perhaps  outside 
the  argument — this,  that  I  am  devotedly  attached  to  you. 
The  case  is  the  stronger  for  that.  I  was  only  trying  to 
demonstrate  that  the  idea  of  our  being  married  is  not  so 
unutterably  absurd.  You  laughingly  said  you  would 
marry  me  if  I  could  accomplish  something  which  would 
please  you  very  much.  I  laughed  also  ;  but  now  I  seri 
ously  repeat  my  proposition,  because  I  am  convinced  that 
although  at  first  sight  it  may  appear  extremely  humour 
ous,  on  a  closer  inspection  it  will  be  found  exceedingly 
practical.  In  union  is  strength." 

Donna  Tullia  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  her  face  grew 
grave.  There  was  reason  in  what  he  said.  She  did  not 
care  for  him — she  had  never  thought  of  marrying  him  ; 
but  she  recognised  the  justice  of  what  he  said.  It  was 
clear  that  a  man  of  his  social  position,  received  every 
where  and  intimate  with  all  her  associates,  might  think 
of  marrying  her.  He  looked  positively  handsome  since 
he  was  wounded  ;  he  was  accomplished  and  intelligent ; 
he  had  sufficient  means  of  support  to  prevent  him  from 
being  suspected  of  marrying  solely  for  money,  and  he 
had  calmly  stated  that  he  loved  her.  Perhaps  he  did. 
It  was  nattering  to  Donna  Tullia' s  vanity  to  believe  him, 
and  his  acts  had  certainly  not  belied  his  words.  He  was 
by  far  the  most  thoughtful  of  all  her  admirers,  and  he 
affected  to  treat  her  always  with  a  certain  respect  which 
she  had  never  succeeded  in  obtaining  from  Valdarno  and 
the  rest.  A  woman  who  likes  to  be  noisy,  but  is  con 
scious  of  being  a  little  vulgar,  is  always  nattered  when  a 
man  behaves  towards  her  with  profound  reverence.  It 
will  even  sometimes  cure  her  of  her  vulgarity.  Donna 
Tullia  reflected  seriously  upon  what  Del  Ferice  had  said. 

"  I  never  had  such  a  proposition  made  to  me  in  my  life," 
she  said.  "  Of  course  you  cannot  think  I  regard  it  as  a 
possible  one,  even  now.  You  cannot  think  I  am  so  base 
as  to  sell  myself  for  the  sake  of  revenging  an  insult  once 
offered  me.  If  I  am  to  regard  this  as  a  proposal  of  mar- 


SARACINESOA.  267 

riage,  I  must  decline  it  with,  thanks.  If  it  is  merely  a 
proposition  for  an  alliance,  I  think  the  terms  of  the  treaty 
are  unequal." 

Del  Fence  smiled. 

"  I  knew  you  well  enough  to  know  what  your  answer 
would  be,"  he  said.  "I  never  insulted  you  by  dream 
ing  that  you  would  accept  such  a  proposition.  But  as 
a  subject  for  speculation  it  is  very  pleasant.  It  is  de 
lightful  to  me  to  think  of  being  your  husband ;  it  is 
equally  delightful  to  you  to  think  of  the  humiliation 
of  an  enemy.  I  took  the  liberty  of  uniting  the  two 
thoughts  in  one  dream — a  dream  of  unspeakable  bliss  for 
myself." 

Donna  Tullia's  gay  humour  returned. 

"  You  have  certainly  amused  me  very  well  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  with  your  dreams,"  she  answered.  "  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  what  you  know  of  Don  Giovanni.  It 
must  be  very  interesting  if  it  can  really  seriously  influ 
ence  his  life." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.     The  secret  is  too  valuable." 

"  But  if  the  thing  you  know  has  such,  power,  why  do 
you  not  use  it  yourself  ?  You  must  hate  him  far  more 
than  I  do." 

"  I  doubt  that,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  with  a  cunning 
smile.  "  I  do  not  use  it,  I  do  not  choose  to  strike  the 
blow,  because  I  do  not  care  enough  for  retribution  merely 
on  my  own  account.  I  do  not  pretend  to  generosity,  but 
I  am  not  interested  enough  in  him  to  harm  him,  though 
I  dislike  him  exceedingly.  We  had  a  temporary  settle 
ment  of  our  difficulties  the  other  day,  and  we  were  both 
wounded.  Poor  Casalverde  lost  his  head  and  did  a  fool 
ish  thing,  and  that  cold-blooded  villain  Spicca  killed  him 
in  consequence.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  has  been  enough 
blood  spilled  in  our  quarrel.  I  am  prepared  to  leave  him 
alone  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  But  for  you  it  would  be 
different.  I  could  do  something  worse  than  kill  him  if 
I  chose." 

"  For  me  ?  "  said  Donna  Tullia.     "  What  would  you  do 


268  SARACINESCA. 

for  me  ?  "  She  smiled  sweetly,  willing  to  use  all  her  per 
suasion  to  extract  his  secret. 

"I  could  prevent  Don  Giovanni  from  marrying  the 
Astrardente,  as  he  intends  to  do,"  he  answered,  looking 
straight  at  his  companion. 

"  How  in  the  world  could  you  do  that  ?  "  she  asked,  in 
great  surprise. 

"  That,  my  dear  friend,  is  my  secret,  as  I  said  before. 
I  cannot  reveal  it  to  you  at  present." 

"You  are  as  dark  as  the  Holy  Office,"  said  Donna 
Tullia,  a  little  impatiently.  "  What  possible  harm  could 
it  do  if  you  told  me  ?  " 

"  What  possible  good  either  ?  "  asked  Del  Ferice,  in 
reply.  "  You  could  not  use  it  as  I  could.  You  would 
gain  no  advantage  by  knowing  it.  Of  course,"  he  added, 
with  a  laugh,  "  if  we  entered  into  the  alliance  we  were 
jesting  about,  it  would  be  different." 

"  You  will  not  tell  me  unless  I  promise  to  marry  you  ?  " 

"Frankly,  no,"  he  answered,  still  laughing. 

It  exasperated  Donna  Tullia  beyond  measure  to  feel  that 
he  was  in  possession  of  what  she  so  coveted,  and  to  feel 
that  he  was  bargaining,  half  in  earnest,  for  her  life  in 
exchange  for  his  secret.  She  was  almost  tempted  for  one 
moment  to  assent,  to  cay  she  would  marry  him,  so  great 
was  her  curiosity ;  i«  would  be  easy  to  break  her  promise, 
and  laugh  at  him  afterwards.  But  she  was  not  a  bad 
woman,  as  women  of  her  class  are  considered.  She  had 
suffered  a  great  disappointment,  and  her  resentment  was 
in  proportion  to  her  vanity.  But  she  was  not  prepared  to 
give  a  false  promise  for  the  sake  of  vengeance ;  she  was 
only  bad  enough  to  imagine  such  bad  faith  possible. 

"But  you  said  you  never  seriously  thought  I  could 
accept  such  an  engagement,"  she  objected,  not  knowing 
what  to  say. 

"I  did,"  replied  Del  Ferice.  "I  might  have  added 
that  I  never  seriously  contemplated  parting  with  my 
secret." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  got  from  you,"  said  Donna 


SABACINESCA.  269 

Tullia,  in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  "  I  think  that  when 
you  have  nearly  driven  me  mad  with  curiosity,  you  might 
really  tell  me  something." 

"  Ah  no,  dear  lady,"  answered  her  companion.  "  You 
may  ask  anything  of  me  but  that — anything.  You  may 
ask  that  too,  if  you  will  sign  the  treaty  I  propose." 

"You  will  drive  me  into  marrying  you  out  of  sheer 
curiosity,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  with  an  impatient  laugh. 

"I  wish  that  were  possible.  I  wish  I  could  see  my 
way  to  telling  you  as  it  is,  for  the  thing  is  so  curious  that 
it  would  have  the  most  intense  interest  for  you.  But  it 
is  quite  out  of  the  question." 

"  You  should  never  have  told  me  anything  about  it," 
replied  Madame  Mayer. 

"Well,  I  will  think  about  it,"  said  Del  Ferice  at  last,  as 
though  suddenly  resolving  to  make  a  sacrifice.  "  I  will 
look  over  some  papers  I  have,  and  I  will  think  about  it. 
I  promise  you  that  if  I  feel  that  I  can  conscientiously 
tell  you  something  of  the  matter,  you  may  be  sure  that 
I  will." 

Donna  Tullia's  manner  changed  again,  from  impatience 
to  persuasion.  The  sudden  hope  he  held  out  to  her  was 
delicious  to  contemplate.  She  could  not  realise  that  Del 
Ferice,  having  once  thoroughly  interested  her,  could  play 
upon  her  moods  as  on  the  keys  of  an  instrument.  If  she 
had  been  less  anxious  that  the  story  he  told  should  be 
true,  she  might  have  suspected  that  he  was  practising 
upon  her  credulity.  But  she  seized  the  idea  of  obtaining 
some  secret  influence  over  the  life  of  Giovanni,  and  it 
completely  carried  her  away. 

"  You  must  tell  me — I  am  sure  you  will,"  she  said,  let 
ting  her  kindest  glance  rest  upon  her  companion.  "  Come 
and  dine  with  me, — do  you  fast  ?  No — nor  I.  Come  on 
Friday — will  you  ?  " 

"I  shall  be  delighted,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  with  a 
quiet  smile  of  triumph. 

"  I  will  have  the  old  lady,  of  course,  so  you  cannot  tell 
me  at  dinner ;  but  she  will  go  to  sleep  soon  afterwards — • 


270  SARACINESCA. 

she  always  does.  Come  at  seven.  Besides,  she  is  deaf, 
you  know." 

The  old  lady  in  question  was  the  aged  Countess  whom 
Donna  Tullia  affected  as  a  companion  in  her  solitary 
magnificence. 

"  And  now,  will  you  take  me  back  to  the  ball-room  ? 
I  have  an  idea  that  a  partner  is  looking  for  me." 

Del  Ferice  left  her  dancing,  and  went  home  in  his  little 
coup6.  He  was  desperately  fatigued,  for  he  was  still  very 
weak,  and  he  feared  lest  his  imprudence  in  going  out  so 
soon  might  bring  on  a  relapse  from  his  convalescence. 
Nevertheless,  before  he  went  to  bed  he  dismissed  Temis- 
tocle,  and  opened  a  shabby-looking  black  box  which  stood 
upon  his  writing-table.  It  was  bound  with  iron,  and  was 
fastened  by  a  patent  lock  which  had  frequently  defied 
Temistocle's  ingenuity.  From  this  repository  he  took  a 
great  number  of  papers,  which  were  all  neatly  filed  away 
and  marked  in  the  owner's  small  and  ornamented  hand 
writing.  Beneath  many  packages  of  letters  he  found 
what  he  sought  for,  a  long  envelope  containing  several 
folded  documents. 

He  spread  out  the  papers  and  read  them  carefully  over. 

"  It  is  a  very  singular  thing,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  but 
there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it.  There  it  is." 

He  folded  the  papers  again,  returned  them  to  their 
envelope,  and  replaced  the  latter  deep  among  the  letters 
in  his  box.  He  then  locked  it,  attached  the  key  to  a 
chain  he  wore  about  his  neck,  and  went  to  bed,  worn  out 
with  fatigue. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Del  Fence  had  purposely  excited  Donna  Tullia's  curi 
osity,  and  he  meant  before  long  to  tell  more  than  he  had 
vouchsafed  in  his  first  confidence.  But  he  himself  trem 
bled  before  the  magnitude  of  what  he  had  suddenly 


SARACINESCA.  271 

thought  of  doing,  for  the  fear  of  Giovanni  was  in  his 
heart.  The  temptation  to  boast  to  Donna  Tullia  that  he 
had  the  means  of  preventing  Giovanni  from  marrying 
was  too  strong;  but  when  it  had  come  to  telling  her 
what  those  means  were,  prudence  had  restrained  him. 
He  desired  that  if  the  scheme  were  put  into  execution  it 
might  be  by  some  one  else ;  for,  extraordinary  as  it  was, 
he  was  not  absolutely  certain  of  its  success.  He  was  not 
sure  of  Donna  Tullia's  discretion,  either,  until  by  a  judi 
cious  withholding  of  the  secret  he  had  given  her  a  suffi 
cient  idea  of  its  importance.  But  on  mature  reflection  he 
came  to  the  conclusion  that,  even  if  she  possessed  the 
information  he  was  able  to  give,  she  would  not  dare  to 
mention  it,  nor  even  to  hint  at  it.  *?'.' 

The  grey  light  of  Ash- Wednesday  morning  broke  over 
Rome,  and  stole  through  the  windows  of  Giovanni  Sara- 
cinesca's  bedroom.  Giovanni  had  not  slept  much,  but  his 
restlessness  was  due  rather  to  his  gladness  at  having  per 
formed  the  last  of  his  social  duties  than  to  any  disturbance 
of  mind.  All  night  he  lay  planning  what  he  should  do, — 
how  he  might  reach  his  place  in  the  mountains  by  a  cir 
cuitous  route,  leaving  the  general  impression  that  he  was 
abroad — and  how,  when  at  last  he  had  got  to  Saracinesca 
unobserved,  he  would  revel  in  the  solitude  and  in  the 
thought  of  being  within  half  a  day's  journey  of  Corona 
d'Astrardente.  He  was  willing  to  take  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  for  he  did  not  wish  people  to  know  his  where 
abouts  ;  he  would  not  have  it  said  that  he  had  gone  into 
the  country  to  be  near  Corona  and  to  see  her  every  day,  as 
would  certainly  be  said  if  his  real  movements  were  dis 
covered.  Accordingly,  he  fulfilled  his  programme  to  the 
letter.  He  left  Kome  on  the  afternoon  of  Ash-Wednesday 
for  Florence ;  there  he  visited  several  acquaintances  who, 
he  knew,  would  write  to  their  friends  in  Rome  of  his  ap 
pearance  ;  from  Florence  he  went  to  Paris,  and  gave  out 
that  he  was  going  upon  a  shooting  expedition  in  the  Arc 
tic  regions,  as  soon  as  the  weather  was  warm  enough.  As 
he  was  well  known  for  a  sportsman  and  a  traveller,  this 


272  SARACINESCA. 

statement  created  no  suspicion ;  and  when  he  finally  left 
.Paris,  the  newspapers  and  the  gossips  all  said  he  had 
gone  to  Copenhagen  on  his  way  to  the  far  north.  In  due 
time  the  statement  reached  Rome,  and  it  was  supposed 
that  society  had  lost  sight  of  Giovanni  Saracinesca  for  at 
least  eight  months.  It  was  thought  that  he  had  acted 
with  great  delicacy  in  absenting  himself ;  he  would  thus 
allow  the  first  months  of  Corona's  mourning  to  pass  be 
fore  formally  presenting  himself  to  society  as  her  suitor. 
Considering  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  the  case,  there 
would  be  nothing  improper,  from  a  social  point  of  view, 
in  his  marrying  Corona  at  the  expiration  of  a  year  after 
her  husband's  death.  Of  course  he  would  marry  her; 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that — he  had  been  in  love  with 
her  so  long,  and  now  she  was  both  free  and  rich.  No 
one  suspected  that  Giovanni,  instead  of  being  in  Scandi 
navia,  was  quietly  established  at  Saracinesca,  a  day's 
journey  from  Rome,  busying  himself  with  the  manage 
ment  of  the  estate,  and  momentarily  satisfied  in  feeling 
himself  so  near  the  woman  he  loved. 

Donna  Tullia  could  hardly  wait  until  the  day  when  Del 
Ferice  was  coming  to  dinner :  she  was  several  times  on 
the  point  of  writing  a  note  to  ask  him  to  come  at  once. 
But  she  wisely  refrained,  guessing  that  the  more  she 
pressed  him  the  more  difficulties  he  would  make.  At  last 
he  came,  looking  pale  and  worn — interesting,  as  Donna 
Tullia  would  have  expressed  it.  The  old  Countess  talked 
a  great  deal  during  dinner ;  but  as  she  was  too  deaf  to 
hear  more  than  a  quarter  of  what  was  said  by  the  others, 
the  conversation  was  not  interesting.  When  the  meal  was 
over,  she  established  herself  in  a  comfortable  chair  in  the 
little  sitting-room,  and  took  a  book.  After  a  few  minutes, 
Donna  Tullia  suggested  to  Del  Ferice  that  they  should  go 
into  the  drawing-room.  She  had  received  some  new  waltz- 
music  from  Vienna  which  she  wanted  to  look  over,  and 
TJgo  might  help  her.  She  was  not  a  musician,  but  was 
fond  of  a  cheerful  noise,  and  played  upon  the  piano  with 
the  average  skill  of  a  well-educated  young  woman  of  the 


SARACINESCA.  273 

world.  Of  course  the  doors  were  left  open  between  the 
drawing-room  and  the  boudoir,  where  the  Countess  dozed 
over  her  book  and  presently  fell  asleep. 

Donna  Tullia  sat  at  the  grand  piano,  and  made  Del 
Fence  sit  beside  her.  She  struck  a  few  chords,  and 
played  a  fragment  of  dance-music. 

"Of  course  you  have  heard  that  Don  Giovanni  is 
gone  ?  "  she  asked,  carelessly.  "I  suppose  he  is  gone  to 
Saracinesca ;  they  say  there  is  a  very  good  road  between 
that  and  Astrardente." 

"  I  should  think  he  would  have  more  decency  than  to 
pursue  the  Duchessa  in  the  first  month  of  her  mourning," 
answered  Del  Ferice,  resting  one  arm  upon  the  piano,  and 
supporting  his  pale  face  with  his  hand  as  he  watched 
Donna  Tullia's  fingers  move  upon  the  keys. 

"Why?  He  does  not  care  what  people  say — why 
should  he  ?  He  will  marry  her  when  the  year  is  Out. 
Why  should  he  care  ?  " 

"  He  can  never  marry  her  unless  I  choose  to  allow  it," 
said  Del  Ferice,  quietly. 

"So  you  told  me  the  other  night,"  returned  Donna 
Tullia.  "But  you  will  allow  him,  of  course.  Besides, 
you  could  not  stop  it,  after  all.  I  do  not  believe  that 
you  could."  She  leaned  far  back  in  her  chair,  her  hands 
resting  upon  the  keys  without  striking  them,  and  she 
looked  at  Del  Ferice  with  a  sweet  smile.  There  was  a 
moment's  pause. 

"  I  have  decided  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said  at  last, 
"upon  one  condition." 

"Why  make  conditions  ?"  asked  Donna  Tullia,  trying 
to  conceal  her  excitement. 

"  Only  one,  that  of  secrecy.  Will  you  promise  never 
to  mention  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  without  previously 
consulting  me  ?  I  do  not  mean  a  common  promise ;  I 
mean  it  to  be  an  oath."  He  spoke  very  earnestly.  "  This 
is  a  very  serious  matter.  We  are  playing  with  fire  and 
with  life  and  death.  You  must  give  me  some  guarantee 
that  you  will  be  secret." 


274  SAEACINESCA. 

His  manner  impressed  Donna  Tullia ;  she  had  never 
seen  him  so  much  in  earnest  in  her  life. 

"  I  will  promise  in  any  way  you  please,"  she  said. 

"Then  say  this,"  he  answered.  "Say,  'I  swear  and 
solemnly  bind  myself  that  I  will  faithfully  keep  the  secret 
about  to  be  committed  to  me ;  and  that  if  I  fail  to  keep  it  I 
will  atone  by  immediately  marrying  Ugo  del  Ferice ' " 

"  That  is  absurd ! "  cried  Donna  Tullia,  starting  back 
from  him.  He  did  not  heed  her. 

" '  And  I  take  to  witness  of  this  oath  the  blessed  mem 
ory  of  my  mother,  the  hope  of  the  salvation  of  my  soul, 
and  this  relic  of  the  True  Cross/ ?;  He  pointed  to  the 
locket  she  wore  at  her  neck,  which  she  had  often  told 
him  contained  the  relic  he  mentioned. 

"  It  is  impossible ! "  she  cried  again.  "  I  cannot  swear 
so  solemnly  about  such  a  matter.  I  cannot  promise  to 
marry  you." 

"  Then  it  is  because  you  cannot  promise  to  keep  my 
secret,"  he  answered  calmly.  He  knew  her  very  well, 
and  he  believed  that  she  would  not  break  such  an  oath 
as  he  had  dictated,  under  any  circumstances.  He  did 
not  choose  to  risk  anything  by  her  indiscretion.  Donna 
Tullia  hesitated,  seeing  that  he  was  firm.  She  was  tor 
tured  with  curiosity  beyond  all  endurance. 

"  I  am  only  promising  to  marry  you  in  case  I  reveal 
the  secret  ?  "  she  asked.  He  bowed  assent.  "  So  that  I 
am  really  only  promising  to  be  silent  ?  Well,  I  cannot 
understand  why  it  should  be  solemn ;  but  if  you  wish  it 
so,  I  will  do  it.  What  are  the  words  ?  " 

He  repeated  them  slowly,  and  she  followed  him.  He 
watched  her  at  every  word,  to  be  sure  she  overlooked 
nothing. 

"  I,  Tullia  Mayer,  swear  and  solemnly  bind  myself  that 
I  will  faithfully  keep  the  secret  about  to  be  committed 
to  me ;  and  that  if  I  fail  to  keep  it,  I  will  atone  by  imme 
diately  marrying  Ugo  del  Ferice  " — her  voice  trembled 
nervously:  "and  I  take  to  witness  of  this  oath  the 
blessed  memory  of  my  mother,  the  hope  of  the  salvation 


SABACINESCA.  275 

of  my  soul,  and  this  relic  of  the  True  Cross."  At  the 
last  words  she  took  the  locket  in  her  fingers. 

"  You  understand  that  you  have  promised  to  marry  me 
if  you  reveal  my  secret  ?  You  fully  understand  that  ?  " 
asked  Del  Ferice. 

"  I  understand  it,"  she  answered  hurriedly,  as  though 
ashamed  of  what  she  had  done.  "  And  now,  the  secret," 
she  added  eagerly,  feeling  that  she  had  undergone  a  cer 
tain  humiliation  for  the  sake  of  what  she  so  much 
coveted. 

"  Don  Giovanni  cannot  marry  the  Duchessa  d'  Astrar- 
dente,  because  " — he  paused  a  moment  to  give  full  weight 
to  his  statement — "  because  Don  Giovanni  Saracinesca  is 
married  already." 

"  What !  "  cried  Donna  Tullia,  starting  from  her  chair 
in  amazement  at  the  astounding  news. 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  said  Del  Ferice,  with  a  quiet  smile. 
"  Calm  yourself ;  it  is  quite  true.  I  know  what  you  are 
thinking  of — all  Rome  thought  he  was  going  to  marry 
you." 

Donna  Tullia  was  overcome  by  the  strangeness  of  the 
situation.  She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a  moment 
as  she  leaned  forward  over  the  piano.  Then  she  sud 
denly  looked  up. 

"  What  a  hideous  piece  of  villany ! "  she  exclaimed,  in 
a  stifled  voice.  Then  slowly  recovering  from  the  first 
shock  of  the  intelligence,  she  looked  at  Del  Ferice ;  she 
was  almost  as  pale  as  he.  "What  proof  have  you?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  have  the  attested  copy  of  the  banns  published  by 
the  priest  who  married  them.  That  is  evidence.  More 
over,  the  real  book  of  banns  exists,  and  Giovanni's  name 
is  upon  the  parish  register.  I  have  also  a  copy  of  the 
certificate  of  the  civil  marriage,  which  is  signed  by  Gio 
vanni  himself." 

"  Tell  me  more,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  eagerly.  "  How 
did  you  find  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  simple,"  answered  Del  Ferice.     "  You  may 


2T6  SARACINESCA. 

go  and  see  for  yourself,  if  you  do  not  mind  making  a 
short  journey.  Last  summer  I  was  wandering  a  little 
for  my  health's  sake,  as  I  often  do,  and  I  chanced  to  be 
in  the  town  of  Aquila — you  know,  the  capital  of  Abruzzi. 
One  day  I  happened  to  go  into  the  sacristy  of  one  of  the 
parish  churches  to  see  some  pictures  which  are  hung  there. 
There  had  been  a  marriage  service  performed,  and  as  the 
sacristan  moved  about  explaining  the  pictures,  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  an  open  book  which  looked  like  a  register  of 
some  kind.  I  idly  asked  him  what  it  was,  and  he  showed  it 
to  me ;  it  was  amusing  to  look  at  the  names  of  the  people, 
and  I  turned  over  the  leaves  curiously.  Suddenly  my  atten 
tion  was  arrested  by  a  name  I  knew — '  Giovanni  Saracin- 
esca,'  written  clearly  across  the  page,  and  below  it,  'Felice 
Baldi,' — the  woman  he  had  married.  The  date  of  the 
marriage  was  the  19th  of  June  1863.  You  remember, 
perhaps,  that  in  that  summer,  in  fact  during  the  whole  of 
that  year,  Don  Giovanni  was  supposed  to  be  absent  upon 
his  famous  shooting  expedition  in  Canada,  about  which 
he  talks  so  much.  It  appears,  then,  that  two  years  ago, 
instead  of  being  in  America,  he  was  living  in  Aquila, 
married  to  Felice  Baldi — probably  some  pretty  peasant 
girl.  I  started  at  the  sight  of  the  names.  I  got  permis 
sion  to  have  an  attested  copy  of  it  made  by  a  notary.  I 
found  the  priest  who  had  married  them,  but  he  could  not 
remember  the  couple.  The  man,  he  said,  was  dark,  he 
was  sure;  the  woman,  he  thought,  had  been  fair.  He 
married  so  many  people  in  a  year.  These  were  not  na 
tives  of  Aquila;  they  had  apparently  come  there  from 
the  country — perhaps  had  met.  The  banns — yes,  he  had 
the  book  of  banns  ;  he  had  also  the  register  of  marriages 
from  which  he  sometimes  issued  certified  extracts.  He 
was  a  good  old  man,  and  seemed  ready  to  oblige  me; 
but  his  memory  was  very  defective.  He  allowed  me  to 
take  notary's  copies  of  the  banns  and  the  entry  in  the 
list,  as  well  as  of  the  register.  Then  I  went  to  the  office 
of  the  Stato  Civile.  You  know  that  people  do  not  sign 
the  register  in  the  church  themselves;  the  names  are 


SAKACINESCA.  277 

written  down  by  the  priest.  I  wanted  to  see  the  sig 
natures,  and  the  book  of  civil  marriages  was  shown 
to  me. 

The  handwriting  was  Giovanni's,  I  am  sure — larger, 
and  a  little  less  firm,  but  distinguishable  at  a  glance.  I 
took  the  copies  for  curiosity,  and  never  said  anything 
about  it,  but  I  have  kept  them.  That  is  the  history. 
Do  you  see  how  serious  a  matter  it  is  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  who  had  listened 
with  intense  interest  to  the  story.  "But  what  could  have 
induced  him  to  marry  that  woman  ?  " 

"  One  of  those  amiable  eccentricities  peculiar  to  his 
family,"  replied  Del  Ferice,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"  The  interesting  thing  would  be  to  discover  what  be 
came  of  Felice  Baldi — Donna  Felice  Saracinesca,  as  I 
suppose  she  has  a  right  to  be  called." 

"  Let  us  find  her — Giovanni's  wife,"  exclaimed  Donna 
Tullia,  eagerly.  "  Where  can  she  be  ?  " 

"Who  knows  ?  "  ejaculated  Del  Ferice.  "I  would  be 
curious  to  see  her.  The  name  of  her  native  village  is 
given,  and  the  names  of  her  parents.  Giovanni  described 
himself  in  the  paper  as  '  of  Naples,  a  landholder,7  and 
omitted  somehow  the  details  of  his  parentage.  Nothing 
could  be  more  vague  ;  everybody  is  a  landholder,  from  the 
wretched  peasant  who  cultivates  one  acre  to  their  high- 
and-mightinesses  the  Princes  of  Saracinesca.  Perhaps  by 
going  to  the  village  mentioned  some  information  might 
be  obtained.  He  probably  left  her  sufficiently  provided 
for,  and,  departing  on  pretence  of  a  day's  journey,  never 
returned.  He  is  a  perfectly  unscrupulous  man,  and  thinks 
no  more  of  this  mad  scrape  than  of  shooting  a  chamois  in 
the  Tyrol.  He  knows  she  can  never  find  him — never 
guessed  who  he  really  was." 

"Perhaps  she  is  dead,"  suggested  Donna  Tullia,  her 
face  suddenly  growing  grave. 

"  Why  ?  He  would  not  have  taken  the  trouble  to  kill 
her — a  peasant  girl  in  the  Abruzzi !  He  would  have  had 
no  diniculty  in  leaving  her,  and  she  is  probably  alive  and 


278  SARACINESCA. 

well  at  the  present  moment,  perhaps  the  mother  of  the 
future  Prince  Saracinesca — who  can  tell  ?  " 

"  But  do  you  not  see,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  "  that  unless 
you  have  proof  that  she  is  alive,  we  have  no  hold  upon 
him  ?  He  may  acknowledge  the  whole  thing,  and  calmly 
inform  us  that  she  is  dead." 

"That  is  true;  but  even  then  he  must  show  that  she 
came  to  a  natural  end  and  was  buried.  Believe  me,  Gio 
vanni  would  relinquish  all  intentions  of  marrying  the 
Astrardente  rather  than  have  this  scandalous  story  pub 
lished." 

"  I  would  like  to  tax  him  with  it  in  a  point-blank  ques 
tion,  and  watch  his  face,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  fiercely. 

"  Eemember  your  oath,"  said  Del  Ferice.  "  But  he  is 
gone  now.  You  will  not  meet  him  for  some  months." 

"  Tell  me,  how  could  you  make  use  of  this  knowledge, 
if  you  really  wanted  to  prevent  his  marriage  with  the 
Astrardente  ?  " 

"I  would  advise  you  to  go  to  her  and  state  the  case. 
You  need  mention  nobody.  Any  one  who  chooses  may 
go  to  Aquila  and  examine  the  registers.  I  think  that  you 
could  convey  the  information  to  her  with  as  much  com 
mand  of  language  as  would  be  necessary." 

"  I  daresay  I  could,"  she  answered,  between  her  teeth. 
"  What  a  strange  chance  it  was  that  brought  that  regis 
ter  under  your  hand ! " 

"Heaven  sends  opportunities,"  said  Del  Ferice,  de 
voutly;  "it  is  for  man  to  make  good  use  of  them. 
Who  knows  but  what  you  may  make  a  brilliant  use  of 
this  ?  " 

"I  cannot,  since  I  am  bound  by  my  promise,"  said 
Donna  Tullia. 

"  No  ;  I  am  sure  you  will  not  think  of  doing  it.  But 
then,  we  might  perhaps  agree  that  circumstances  made  it 
advisable  to  act.  Many  months  must  pass  before  he  can 
think  of  offering  himself  to  her.  It  will  be  time  enough 
to  consider  the  matter  then — to  consider  whether  we 
should  be  justified  in  raising  such  a  terrible  scandal,  in 


SABACINESCA.  279 

causing  so  much  unhappiness  to  an  innocent  woman  like 
the  Duchessa,  and  to  a  worthless  man  like  Don  Giovanni. 
Think  what  a  disgrace  it  would  be  to  the  Saracinesca  to 
have  it  made  public  that  Giovanni  was  openly  engaged 
to  marry  a  great  heiress  while  already  secretly  married 
to  a  peasant  woman ! " 

"  It  would  indeed  be  horrible,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  with 
a  disagreeable  look  in  her  blue  eyes.  "  Perhaps  we  should 
not  even  think  of  it,"  she  added,  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  the  music  upon  the  piano.  Then  suddenly  she  added, 
"  Do  you  know  that  you  have  put  me  in  a  dreadful  posi 
tion  by  exacting  that  promise  from  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Del  Ferice,  quietly.  "  You  wanted  to  hear 
the  secret.  You  have  heard  it.  You  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  keep  it  to  yourself." 

"That  is  precisely "      She  checked  herself,  and 

struck  a  loud  chord  upon  the  instrument.  She  had  turned 
from  Del  Ferice,  and  could  not  see  the  smile  upon  his 
face,  which  nickered  across  the  pale  features  and  van 
ished  instantly. 

"Think  no  more  about  it,"  he  said  pleasantly.  " It' is 
so  easy  to  forget  such  stories  when  one  resolutely  puts 
them  out  of  one's  mind." 

Donna  Tullia  smiled  bitterly,  and  was  silent.  She 
began  playing  from  the  sheet  before  her,  with  indifferent 
accuracy,  but  with  more  than  sufficient  energy.  Del 
Ferice  sat  patiently  by  her  side,  turning  over  the  leaves, 
and  glancing  from  time  to  time  at  her  face,  which  he 
really  admired  exceedingly.  He  belonged  to  the  type 
of  pale  and  somewhat  phlegmatic  men  who  frequently 
fall  in  love  with  women  of  sanguine  complexion  and 
robust  appearance.  Donna  Tullia  was  a  fine  type  of  this 
class,  and  was  called  handsome,  though  she  did  not  com-  * 
pare  well  with  women  of  less  pretension  to  beauty,  but 
more  delicacy  and  refinement.  Del  Ferice  admired  her 
greatly,  however ;  and,  as  has  been  said,  he  admired  her 
fortune  even  more.  He  saw  himself  gradually  approach 
ing  the  goal  of  his  intentions,  and  as  he  neared  the  desired 


280  SAKACINESCA. 

end  he  grew  more  and  more  cautious.  He  had  played  one 
of  his  strongest  cards  that  night,  and  he  was  content  to 
wait  and  let  matters  develop  quietly,  without  any  more 
pushing  from  him.  The  seed  would  grow,  there  was  no 
fear  of  that,  and  his  position  was  strong.  He  could  wait 
quietly  for  the  result. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  he  excused  himself  upon  the 
plea  that  he  was  still  only  convalescent,  and  was  unable 
to  bear  the  fatigue  of  late  hours.  Donna  Tullia  did  not 
press  him  to  stay,  for  she  wished  to  be  alone  ;  and  when 
he  was  gone  she  sat  long  at  the  open  piano,  pondering 
upon  what  she  had  done,  and  even  more  upon  what  she 
had  escaped  doing.  It  was  a  hideous  thought  that  if 
Giovanni,  in  all  that  long  winter,  had  asked  her  to  be  his 
wife,  she  would  readily  have  consented ;  it  was  fearful 
to  think  what  her  position  would  have  been  towards  Del 
Ferice,  who  would  have  been  able  by  a  mere  word  to 
annul  her  marriage  by  proving  the  previous  one  at 
Aquila.  People  do  not  trifle  with  such  accusations,  and 
he  certainly  knew  what  he  was  doing ;  she  would  have 
been  bound  hand  and  foot.  Or  supposing  that  Del 
Ferice  had  died  of  the  wound  he  received  in  the  duel, 
and  his  papers  had  been  ransacked  by  his  heirs,  whoever 
they  might  be — these  attested  documents  would  have 
become  public  property.  What  a  narrow  escape  Gio 
vanni  had  had !  And  she  herself,  too,  how  nearly  had 
she  been  involved  in  his  ruin !  She  liked  to  think  that 
he  had  almost  offered  himself  to  her;  it  flattered  her, 
although  she  now  hated  him  so  cordially.  She  could 
not  help  admiring  Del  Ferice's  wonderful  discretion  in 
so  long  concealing  a  piece  of  scandal  that  would  have 
shaken  Roman  society  to  its  foundations,  and  she  trem 
bled  when  she  thought  what  would  happen  if  she  herself 
were  ever  tempted  to  reveal  what  she  had  heard.  Del 
Ferice  was  certainly  a  man  of  genius — so  quiet,  and  yet 
possessing  such  weapons ;  there  was  some  generosity 
about  him  too,  or  he  would  have  revenged  himself  for 
his  wound  by  destroying  Giovanni's  reputation.  She 


SAKACINESCA.  281 

considered  whether  she  could  have  kept  her  counsel  so 
well  in  his  place.  After  all,  as  he  had  said,  the  moment 
for  using  the  documents  had  not  yet  come,  for  hitherto 
Giovanni  had  never  proposed  to  marry  any  one.  Perhaps 
this  secret  wedding  in  Aquila  explained  his  celibacy; 
Del  Ferice  had  perhaps  misjudged  him  in  saying  that  he 
was  unscrupulous ;  he  had  perhaps  left  his  peasant  wife, 
repenting  of  his  folly,  but  it  was  perhaps  on  her  account 
that  he  had  never  proposed  to  marry  Donna  Tullia ;  he 
had,  then,  only  been  amusing  himself  with  Corona.  That 
all  seemed  likely  enough — so  likely,  that  it  heightened 
the  certainty  of  Del  Ferice's  information. 

A  few  days  later,  as  Giovanni  had  intended,  news  began 
to  reach  Eome  that  he  had  been  in  Florence,  and  was 
actually  in  Paris;  then  it  was  said  that  he  was  going 
upon  a  shooting  expedition  somewhere  in  the  far  north 
during  the  summer.  It  was  like  him,  and  in  accordance 
with  his  tastes.  He  hated  the  quiet  receptions  at  the 
great  houses  during  Lent,  to  which,  if  he  remained  in 
Eome,  he  was  obliged  to  go.  He  naturally  escaped 
when  he  could.  But  there  was  no  escape  for  Donna 
Tullia,  and  after  all  she  managed  to  extract  some  amuse 
ment  from  these  gatherings.  She  was  the  acknowledged 
centre  of  the  more  noisy  set,  and  wherever  she  went, 
people  who  wanted  to  be  amused,  and  were  willing  to 
amuse  each  other,  congregated  around  her.  On  one  of 
these  occasions  she  met  old  Saracinesca.  He  did  not 
go  out  much  since  his  son  had  left ;  but  he  seemed  cheer 
ful  enough,  and  as  he  liked  Madame  Mayer,  for  some 
inscrutable  reason,  she  rather  liked  him.  Moreover, 
her  interest  in  Giovanni,  though  now  the  very  reverse  of 
affectionate,  made  her  anxious  to  know  something  of  his 
movements. 

"You  must  be  lonely  since  Don  Giovanni  has  gone 
upon  his  travels  again,"  she  said. 

"  That  is  the  reason  I  go  out,"  said  the  Prince.  "  It  is 
not  very  gay,  but  it  is  better  than  nothing.  It  suggests 
cold  meat  served  up  after  the  dessert  j  but  when  people 


282  SARACINESCA. 

are  hungry,  the  order  of  their  food  is  not  of  much  im 
portance." 

"  Is  there  any  news,  Prince  ?    I  want  to  be  amused." 

"  News  ?  No.  The  world  is  at  peace,  and  consequently 
given  over  to  sin,  as  it  mostly  is  when  it  is  resting  from 
a  fit  of  violence." 

"  You  seem  to  be  inclined  to  moralities  this  evening," 
said  Donna  Tullia,  smiling,  and  gently  swaying  the  red 
fan  she  always  carried. 

"  Am  I  ?  Then  I  am  growing  old,  I  suppose.  It  is 
the  privilege  of  old  age  to  censure  in.  others  what  it  is 
no  longer  young  enough  to  praise  in  itself.  It  is  a  bad 
thing  to  grow  old,  but  it  makes  people  good,  or  makes 
them  think  they  are,  which  in  their  own  eyes  is  precisely 
the  same  thing." 

"  How  delightfully  cynical ! " 

"  Doggish  ?  "  inquired  the  Prince,  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
have  heard  it  said  by  scholars,  that  cynical  means  dog 
gish  in  Greek.  The  fable  of  the  dog  in  the  horse's  man 
ger  was  invented  to  define  the  real  cynic — the  man  who 
neither  enjoys  life  himself  nor  will  allow  other  people  to 
enjoy  it.  I  am  not  such  a  man.  I  hope  you,  for  in 
stance,  will  enjoy  everything  that  comes  in  your  way." 

"  Even  the  cold  meat  after  the  dessert  which  you  spoke 
of  just  now  ?  "  asked  Donna  Tullia.  "  Thank  you — I 
will  try ;  perhaps  you  can  help  me." 

"  My  son  despised  it,"  said  Saracinesca.  "  He  is  gone 
in  search  of  fresh  pastures  of  sweets." 

"  Leaving  you  behind." 

"  Somebody  once  said  that  the  wisest  thing  a  son  could 
do  was  to  get  rid  of  his  father  as  soon  as  possible " 

"  Then  Don  Giovanni  is  a  wise  man,"  returned  Donna 
Tullia. 

"  Perhaps.    However,  he  asked  me  to  accompany  him." 

"You  refused?" 

"  Of  course.  Such  expeditions  are  good  enough  for 
boys.  I  dislike  Florence,  I  am  not  especially  fond  of 
Paris,  and  I  detest  the  North  Pole.  I  suppose  you  have 


SAEACINESCA.  283 

seen  from  the  papers  that  he  is  going  in  that  direction  ? 
It  is  like  him,  he  hankers  after  originality,  I  suppose. 
Being  born  in  the  south,  he  naturally  goes  to  the  extreme 
north." 

"He  will  write  you  very  interesting  letters,  I  should 
think,"  remarked  Donna  Tullia.  "Is  he  a  good  corre 
spondent  ?  " 

"Bemarkably,  for  he  never  gives  one  any  trouble.  He 
sends  his  address  from  time  to  time,  and  draws  frequently 
on  his  banker.  His  letters  are  not  so  full  of  interest  as 
might  be  thought,  as  they  rarely  extend  over  five  lines ; 
but  on  the  other  hand  it  does  not  take  long  to  read  them, 
which  is  a  blessing." 

"You  seem  to  be  an  affectionate  parent,"  said  Donna 
Tullia,  with  a  laugh. 

"If  you  measure  affection  by  the  cost  of  postage-stamps, 
you  have  a  right  to  be  sarcastic.  If  you  measure  it  in 
any  other  way,  you  are  wrong.  I  could  not  help  loving 
any  one  so  like  myself  as  my  son.  It  would  show  a 
detestable  lack  of  appreciation  of  my  own  gifts." 

"  I  do  not  think  Don  Giovanni  so  very  like  you,"  said 
Donna  Tullia,  thoughtfully. 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  him  so  well  as  I  do,"  remarked 
the  Prince.  "  Where  do  you  see  the  greatest  difference  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  talk  better,  and  I  think  you  are  more — 
not  exactly  more  honest,  perhaps,  but  more  straight 
forward." 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  said  old  Saracinesca,  quickly. 
"  There  is  no  one  alive  who  can  say  they  ever  knew  Gio 
vanni  approach  in  the  most  innocent  way  to  a  distortion 
of  truth.  I  daresay  you  have  discovered,  however,  that 
he  is  reticent ;  he  can  hold  his  tongue ;  he  is  no  chatterer, 
no  parrot,  my  son." 

"  Indeed  he  is  not,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  and  the 
reply  pacified  the  old  man ;  but  she  herself  was  thinking 
what  supreme  reticence  Giovanni  had  shown  in  the  matter 
of  his  marriage,  and  she  wondered  whether  the  Prince 
had  ever  heard  of  it. 


284  SABACINESCA. 


CHAPTER    XXIL 

Anastase  Gouache  worked  hard  at  the  Cardinal's  por 
trait,  and  at  the  same  time  did  his  best  to  satisfy  Donna 
Tullia.  The  latter,  indeed,  was  not  easily  pleased,  and 
Gouache  found  it  hard  to  instil  into  his  representation  of 
her  the  precise  amount  of  poetry  she  required,  without 
doing  violence  to  his  own  artistic  sense  of  fitness.  But  the 
other  picture  progressed  rapidly.  The  Cardinal  was  a 
restless  man,  and  after  the  first  two  or  three  sittings,  de 
sired  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  done  with  them  altogether. 
Anastase  amused  him,  it  is  true,  and  the  statesman  soon 
perceived  that  he  had  made  a  conquest  of  the  young 
man's  mind,  and  that,  as  Giovanni  Saracinesca  had  pre 
dicted,  he  had  helped  Gouache  to  come  to  a  decision. 
He  was  not  prepared,  however,  for  the  practical  turn  that 
decision  immediately  took,  and  he  was  just  beginning  to 
wish  the  sittings  at  an  end  when  Anastase  surprised  him 
by  a  very  startling  announcement. 

As  usual,  they  were  in  the  Cardinal's  study ;  the  states 
man  was  silent  and  thoughtful,  and  Gouache  was  working 
with  all  his  might. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  said  the  latter,  suddenly. 

"  Concerning  what,  my  friend  ?  "  inquired  the  great  man, 
rather  absently. 

"Concerning  everything,  Eminence,"  answered  Gouache 
— "  concerning  politics,  religion,  life,  death,  and  everything 
else  which  belongs  to  my  career.  I  am  going  to  enlist 
with  the  Zouaves." 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then 
broke  into  a  low  laugh. 

"Extremis  malis  extrema  remedial"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Precisely — aux  grands  maux  les  grands  remedes,  as  we 
say.  I  am  going  to  join  the  Church  militant.  I  am  con 
vinced  that  it  is  the  best  thing  an  honest  man  can  do.  I 
like  fighting,  and  I  like  the  Church — therefore  I  will  fight 
for  the  Church." 


SARACINESCA.  285 

"  Very  good  logic,  indeed,"  answered  the  Cardinal.  But 
lie  looked  at  Anastase,  and  marking  his  delicate  features 
and  light  frame,  he  almost  wondered  how  the  lad  would 
look  in  the  garb  of  a  soldier.  "Very  good  logic;  but, 
my  dear  Monsieur  Gouache,  what  is  to  become  of  your 
art?" 

"I  shall  not  be  mounting  guard  all  day,  and  the  Zouaves 
are  allowed  to  live  in  their  own  lodgings.  I  will  live  in 
my  studio,  and  paint  when  I  am  not  mounting  guard." 

"  And  my  portrait  ?  "  inquired  Cardinal  Antonelli,  much 
amused. 

"  Your  Eminence  will  doubtless  be  kind  enough  to  man 
age  that  I  may  have  liberty  to  finish  it." 

"  You  could  not  put  off  enlisting  for  a  week,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Gouache  looked  annoyed ;  he  hated  the  idea  of  waiting. 

"  I  have  taken  too  long  to  make  up  my  mind  already," 
he  replied.  "I  must  make  the  plunge  at  once.  I  am 
convinced — your  Eminence  has  convinced  me — that  I 
have  been  very  foolish." 

"I  certainly  never  intended  to  convince  you  of  that," 
remarked  the  Cardinal,  with  a  smile. 

"  Very  foolish,"  repeated  Gouache,  not  heeding  the  in 
terruption.  "  I  have  talked  great  nonsense, — I  scarcely 
know  why — perhaps  to  try  and  find  where  the  sense  really 
lay.  I  have  dreamed  so  many  dreams,  so  long,  that  I 
sometimes  think  I  am  morbid.  All  artists  are  morbid,  I 
suppose.  It  is  better  to  do  anything  active  than  to  lose 
one's  self  in  the  slums  of  a  sickly  imagination." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  answered  the  Cardinal ;  "  but  I  do 
not  think  you  suffered  from  a  sickly  imagination, — I 
should  rather  call  it  abundant  than  sickly.  Frankly,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  think  that  in  following  this  new  idea 
you  were  in  any  way  injuring  the  great  career  which,  I 
am  sure,  is  before  you ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I  cannot 
help  wishing  that  a  greater  number  of  young  men  would 
follow  your  example." 

"  Your  Eminence  approves,  then  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  make  a  good  soldier  ?  " 

Vol.  10—13 


286  SARACINESCA. 

"Other  artists  have  been  good  soldiers.  There  was 
Cellini " 

"Benvenuto  Cellini  said  he  made  a  good  soldier;  he 
said  it  himself,  but  his  reputation  for  veracity  in  other 
matters  was  doubtful,  to  say  the  least.  If  he  did  not 
shoot  the  Connetable  de  Bourbon,  it  is  very  certain  that 
some  one  else  did.  Besides,  a  soldier  in  our  times  should 
be  a  very  different  kind  of  man  from  the  self -armed  citi 
zen  of  the  time  of  Clement  the  Ninth  and  the  aforesaid 
Connetable.  You  will  have  to  wear  a  uniform  and  sleep 
on  boards  in  a  guard-house ;  you  will  have  to  be  up  early 
to  drill,  and  up  late  mounting  guard,  in  wind  and  rain  and 
cold.  It  is  hard  work ;  I  do  not  believe  you  have  the 
constitution  for  it.  Nevertheless,  the  intention  is  good. 
You  can  try  it,  and  if  you  fall  ill  I  will  see  that  you  have 
no  difficulty  in  returning  to  your  artist  life." 

"I  do  not  mean  to  give  it  up,"  replied  Gouache,  in  a 
tone  of  conviction.  "  And  as  for  my  health,  I  am  as  strong 
as  any  one." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  Cardinal,  doubtfully.  "And when 
are  you  going  to  join  the  corps  ?  " 

"In  about  an  hour,"  said  Gouache,  quietly. 

And  he  kept  his  word.  But  he  had  told  no  one, 
save  the  Cardinal,  of  his  intention ;  and  for  a  day  or  two, 
though  he  passed  many  acquaintances  in  the  street,  no 
one  recognised  Anastase  Gouache  in  the  handsome  young 
soldier  with  his  grey  Turco  uniform,  a  red  sash  round 
his  slender  waist,  and  a  small  Mpi  set  jauntily  upon  one 
side. 

It  was  one  of  the  phenomena  of  those  times.  For 
eigners  swarmed  in  Rome,  and  many  of  them  joined  the 
cosmopolitan  corps — gentlemen,  noblemen,  artists,  men  of 
the  learned  professions,  adventurers,  duellists  driven  from 
their  country  in  a  temporary  exile,  enthusiasts,  strolling 
Irishmen,  men  of  all  sorts  and  conditions.  But,  take 
them  all  in  all,  they  were  a  fine  set  of  fellows,  who  set 
no  value  whatever  on  their  lives,  and  who,  as  a  whole, 
fought  for  an  idea,  in  the  old  crusading  spirit.  There 


SARACINESCA.  287 

were  many  who,  like  Gouache,  joined  solely  from  convic 
tion  ;  and  there  were  few  instances  indeed  of  any  who, 
having  joined,  deserted.  It  often  happened  that  a  stran 
ger  came  to  Eome  for  a  mere  visit,  and  at  the  end  of  a 
month  surprised  his  friends  by  appearing  in  the  grey 
uniform.  You  had  met  him  the  night  before  at  a  ball  in 
the  ordinary  garb  of  civilisation,  covered  with  cotillon 
favours,  waltzing  like  a  madman ;  the  next  morning  he 
entered  the  Cafe*  de  Eome  in  a  braided  jacket  open  at 
the  throat,  and  told  you  he  was  a  soldier — a  private  sol 
dier,  who  touched  his  cap  to  every  corporal  of  the  French 
infantry,  and  was  liable  to  be  locked  up  for  twenty-four 
hours  if  he  was  late  to  quarters. 

Donna  Tullia's  portrait  was  not  quite  finished,  and 
Gouache  had  asked  for  one  or  two  more  sittings.  Three 
days  after  the  artist  had  taken  his  great  resolution, 
Madame  Mayer  and  Del  Ferice  entered  his  studio.  He 
had  had  no  difficulty  in  being  at  liberty  at  the  hour  of 
the  sitting,  and  had  merely  exchanged  his  jacket  for  an 
old  painting-coat,  not  taking  the  trouble  to  divest  him 
self  of  the  remainder  of  his  uniform. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  this  time  ?  "  asked  Donna 
Tullia,  as  she  lifted  the  curtain  and  entered  the  studio. 
He  had  kept  out  of  her  way  during  the  past  few  days. 

"  Good  heavens,  Gouache ! "  cried  Del  Ferice,  starting 
back,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  artist's  grey  trousers  and 
yellow  gaiters.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  comedy  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Gouache,  coolly.  Then,  glancing  at 
his  legs,  he  answered,  "Oh,  nothing.  I  have  turned 
Zouave — that  is  all.  Will  you  sit  down,  Donna  Tullia  ? 
I  was  waiting  for  you." 

"  Turned  Zouave  ! "  exclaimed  Madame  Mayer  and  Del 
Ferice  in  a  breath.  "  Turned  Zouave ! " 

"Well?"  said  Gouache,  raising  his  eyebrows  and 
enjoying  their  surprise.  "Well — why  not?" 

Del  Ferice  struck  a  fine  attitude,  and,  laying  one  hand 
upon  Donna  Tullia's  arm,  whispered  hoarsely  in  her 
ear — 


288  SARACINESCA. 

"  Siamo  traditi — we  are  betrayed ! "  lie  said.  Where 
upon  Donna  Tullia  turned  a  little  pale. 

"  Betrayed ! "  she  repeated,  "  and  by  Gouache  ! " 

Gouache  laughed,  as  he  drew  out  the  battered  old 
carved  chair  on  which  Madame  Mayer  was  accustomed 
to  sit  when  he  painted. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Madame,"  he  said.  "  I  have  not  the 
least  intention  of  betraying  you.  I  have  made  a  counter 
revolution — but  I  am  perfectly  frank.  I  will  not  tell  of 
the  ferocious  deeds  I  have  heard  discussed." 

Del  Ferice  scowled  and  drew  back,  partly  acting, 
partly  in  earnest.  It  lay  in  his  schemes  to  make  Donna 
Tullia  believe  herself  involved  in  a  genuine  plot,  and 
from  this  point  of  view  he  felt  that  he  must  pretend  the 
greatest  horror  and  surprise.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
knew  that  Gouache  had  been  painting  the  Cardinal's 
portrait,  and  guessed  that  the  statesman  had  acquired  a 
strong  influence  over  the  artist's  mind — an  influence 
which  was  already  showing  itself  in  a  way  that  looked 
dangerous.  It  had  never  struck  him  until  quite  lately 
that  Anastase,  a  republican  by  descent  and  conviction, 
could  suddenly  step  into  the  reactionary  camp. 

"  Pardon  me,  Donna  Tullia,"  said  Ugo,  in  serious  tones, 
"  pardon  me — but  I  think  we  should  do  well  to  leave 
Monsieur  Gouache  to  the  contemplation  of  his  new  career. 
This  is  no  place  for  us — the  company  of  traitors " 

"  Look  here,  Del  Ferice,"  said  Gouache,  suddenly  going 
up  to  him  and  looking  him  in  the  face, — "  do  you  seri 
ously  believe  that  anything  you  have  ever  said  in  this 
room  is  worth  betraying  ?  or,  if  you  do,  do  you  really 
think  that  I  would  betray  it  ?  " 

"Bah!"  exclaimed  Donna  Tullia,  interposing,  "it  is 
nonsense !  Gouache  is  a  gentleman,  of  course — and 
besides,  I  mean  to  have  my  portrait,  politics  or  no  poli 
tics." 

With  this  round  statement  Donna  Tullia  sat  down,  and 
Del  Ferice  had  no  choice  but  to  follow  her  example.  He 
was  profoundly  disgusted,  but  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  it 


SABACINESCA.  289 

wonlckbe  hopeless  to  attempt  to  dissuade  Madame  Mayer 
when  she  had  once  made  up  her  mind. 

"  And  now  you  can  tell  us  all  about  it,"  said  Donna 
Tullia.  "  What,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  senseless,  has 
induced  you  to  join  the  Zouaves  ?  It  really  makes  me 
very  nervous  to  see  you." 

"  That  lends  poetry  to  your  expression,"  interrupted 
Gouache.  "  I  wish  you  were  always  nervous.  You  really 
want  to  know  why  I  am  a  Zouave  ?  It  is  very  simple. 
You  must  know  that  I  always  follow  my  impulses." 

"  Impulses  ! "  ejaculated  Del  Ferice,  moodily. 

"  Yes ;  because  my  impulses  are  always  good, — whereas 
when  I  reflect  much,  my  judgment  is  always  bad.  I  felt 
a  strong  impulse  to  wear  the  grey  uniform,  so  I  walked 
into  the  recruiting  office  and  wrote  my  name  down." 

"  I  feel  a  strong  impulse  to  walk  out  of  your  studio, 
Monsieur  Gouache,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  with  a  rather 
nervous  laugh. 

"  Then  allow  me  to  tell  you  that,  whereas  my  impulses 
are  good,  yours  are  not,"  replied  Anastase,  quietly  paint 
ing.  "  Because  I  have  a  new  dress " 

"  And  new  convictions,"  interrupted  Del  Ferice ;  "  you 
who  were  always  arguing  about  convictions  ! " 

"  I  had  none ;  that  is  the  reason  I  argued  about  them. 
I  have  plenty  now — I  argue  no  longer." 

"  You  are  wise,"  retorted  Ugo.  "  Those  you  have  got 
will  never  bear  discussion." 

"Excuse  me,"  answered  Gouache;  "if  you  will  take  the 
trouble  to  be  introduced  to  his  Eminence  Cardinal 
Antonelli " 

Donna  Tullia  held  up  her  hands  in  horror. 

"  That  horrible  man  !  That  Mephistopheles ! "  she  cried. 

"  That  Macchiavelli !  That  arch-enemy  of  our  holy 
Liberty !  "  exclaimed  Del  Ferice,  in  theatrical  tones. 

"  Exactly,"  answered  Gouache.  "  If  he  could  be  in 
duced  to  devote  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  his  valuable  time 
to  talking  with  you,  he  would  turn  your  convictions  round 
his  finger." 


290  SARACINESCA. 

"  This  is  too  much. !  "  cried  Del  Ferice,  angrily.  • 

"I  think  it  is  very  amusing,"  said  Donna  Tullia. 
"  What  a  pity  that  all  Liberals  are  not  artists,  whom  his 
Eminence  could  engage  to  paint  his  portrait  and  be  con 
verted  at  so  much  an  hour ! " 

Gouache  smiled  quietly,  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

"  So  he  told  you  to  go  and  turn  Zouave,"  remarked 
Donna  Tullia,  after  a  pause,  "  and  you  submitted  like  a 
lamb." 

"  So  far  was  the  Cardinal  from  advising  me  to  turn 
soldier,  that  he  expressed  the  greatest  surprise  when  I 
told  him  of  my  intention,"  returned  Gouache,  rather 
coldly. 

"  Indeed  it  is  enough  to  take  away  even  a  cardinal's 
breath,"  answered  Madame  Mayer.  "I  was  never,  never 
so  surprised  in  my  life  !  " 

Gouache  stood  up  to  get  a  view  of  his  work,  and  Donna 
Tullia  looked  at  him  critically. 

"  Tiens  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  rather  becoming — what 
small  ankles  you  have,  Gouache ! " 

Anastase  laughed.  It  was  impossible  to  be  grave  in. 
the  face  of  such  utterly  frivolous  inconsistency. 

"  You  will  allow  your  expression  to  change  so  often, 
Donna  Tullia !  It  is  impossible  to  catch  it." 

"  Like  your  convictions,"  murmured  Del  Ferice  from 
his  corner.  Indeed  Ugo  did  not  know  what  to  make  of 
the  scene.  He  had  miscalculated  the  strength  of  Donna 
Tullia's  fears  as  compared  with  her  longing  to  possess  a 
flattering  portrait  of  herself.  Bather  than  leave  the  pic 
ture  unfinished,  she  exhibited  a  cynical  indifference  to 
danger  which  would  have  done  honour  to  a  better  man 
than  Del  Ferice.  Perhaps,  too,  she  understood  Gouache 
well  enough  to  know  that  he  might  be  trusted.  Indeed 
any  one  would  have  trusted  Gouache.  Even  Del  Ferice 
was  less  disturbed  at  the  possibility  of  the  artist's  repeat 
ing  any  of  the  trivial  liberal  talk  which  he  had  listened 
to,  than  at  the  indifference  to  discovery  shown  by  Donna 
Tullia.  To  Del  Ferice,  the  whole  thing  had  been  but  a 


SARACINESCA.  291 

harmless  play ;  but  lie  wanted  Madame  Mayer  to  believe 
that  it  had  all  been  in  solemn  earnest,  and  that  she  was 
really  implicated  in  a  dangerous  plot ;  for  it  gave  him  a 
stronger  hold  upon  her  for  his  own  ends. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  fight  for  Pio  Nono,"  remarked 
Ugo,  scornfully,  after  another  pause. 

"  I  am,"  replied  Gouache.  "  And,  no  offence  to  you,  my 
friend,  if  I  meet  you  in  a  red  shirt  among  the  Garibaldini, 
I  will  kill  you.  It  would  be  very  unpleasant,  so  I  hope 
that  you  will  not  join  them." 

"  Take  care,  Del  Ferice,"  laughed  Donna  Tullia ;  "your 
life  is  in  danger !  You  had  better  join  the  Zouaves  in 
stead." 

"I  cannot  paint  his  Eminence's  portrait,"  returned 
Ugo,  with  a  sneer,  "  so  there  is  no  chance  of  that." 

"  You  might  assist  him  with  wholesome  advice,  I  should 
think,"  answered  Gouache.  "  I  have  no  doubt  you  could 
tell  him  much  that  would  be  very  useful." 

"  And  turn  traitor  to " 

"  Hush  !  Do  not  be  so  silly,  Del  Ferice,"  interrupted 
Donna  Tullia,  who  began  to  fear  that  Del  Ferice's  taunts 
would  make  trouble.  She  had  a  secret  conviction  that  it 
would  not  be  good  to  push  the  gentle  Anastase  too  far. 
He  was  too  quiet,  too  determined,  and  too  serious  not  to 
be  a  little  dangerous  if  roused. 

"  Do  not  be  absurd,"  she  repeated.  "  Whatever  Gou 
ache  may  choose  to  do,  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  I  will  not 
have  you  talk  of  traitors  like  that.  He  does  not  quarrel 
with  you — why  do  you  try  to  quarrel  with  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  has  done  quite  enough  to  justify  a  quarrel, 
I  am  sure,"  replied  Del  Ferice,  moodily. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Gouache,  desisting  from  his  work 
and  turning  towards  Ugo,  "  Madame  is  quite  right.  I  not 
only  do  not  quarrel,  but  I  refuse  to  be  quarrelled  with. 
You  have  my  most  solemn  assurance  that  whatever  has 
previously  passed  here,  whatever  I  have  heard  said  by 
you,  by  Donna  Tullia,  by  Valdarno,  by  any  of  your 
friends,  I  regard  as  an  inviolable  secret.  You  formerly 


292  SABACINESCA. 

said  I  had  no  convictions,  and  you  were  right.  I  had 
none,  and  I  listened  to  your  exposition  of  your  own  with 
considerable  interest.  My  case  is  changed.  I  need  not 
tell  you  what  I  believe,  for  I  wear  the  uniform  of  a  Papal 
Zouave.  When  I  put  it  on,  I  certainly  did  not  contem 
plate  offending  you ;  I  do  not  wish  to  offend  you  now — I 
only  beg  that  you  will  refrain  from  offending  me.  For  my 
part,  I  need  only  say  that  henceforth  I  do  not  desire  to 
take  a  part  in  your  councils.  If  Donna  Tullia  is  satisfied 
with  her  portrait,  there  need  be  no  further  occasion  for 
our  meeting.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  are  to  meet  again, 
I  beg  that  we  may  meet  on  a  footing  of  courtesy  and 
mutual  respect." 

It  was  impossible  to  say  more ;  and  Gouache's  speech 
terminated  the  situation  so  far  as  Del  Ferice  was  con 
cerned.  Donna  Tullia  smilingly  expressed  her  approval. 

"Quite  right,  Gouache,"  she  said.  "You  know  it 
would  be  impossible  to  leave  the  portrait  as  it  is  now. 
The  mouth,  you  know — you  promised  to  do  something  to 
it — just  the  expression,  you  know." 

Gouache  bowed  his  head  a  little,  and  set  to  work  again 
without  a  word.  Del  Ferice  did  not  speak  again  during 
the  sitting,  but  sat  moodily  staring  at  the  canvas,  at 
Donna  Tullia,  and  at  the  floor.  It  was  not  often  that  he 
was  moved  from  his  habitual  suavity  of  manner,  but 
Gouache's  conduct  had  made  him  feel  particularly  un 
comfortable. 

The  next  time  Donna  Tullia  came  to  sit,  she  brought 
her  old  Countess,  and  Del  Ferice  did  not  appear.  The 
portrait  was  ultimately  finished  to  the  satisfaction  of  all 
parties,  and  was  hung  in  Donna  Tullia's  drawing-room, 
to  be  admired  and  criticised  by  all  her  friends.  But 
Gouache  rejoiced  when  the  thing  was  finally  removed 
from  his  studio,  for  he  had  grown  to  hate  it,  and  had  been 
almost  willing  to  flatter  it  out  of  all  likeness  to  Madame 
Mayer,  for  the  sake  of  not  being  eternally  confronted  by 
the  cold  stare  of  her  blue  eyes.  He  finished  the  Cardi 
nal's  portrait  too  \  and  the  statesman  not  only  paid  for  it 


SAKACINESCA.  293 

with  unusual  liberality,  but  gave  the  artist  what  he  called 
a  little  memento  of  the  long  hours  they  had  spent  to 
gether.  He  opened  one  of  the  lockers  in  his  study,  and 
from  a  small  drawer  selected  an  ancient  ring,  in  which  was 
set  a  piece  of  crystal  with  a  delicate  intaglio  of  a  figure 
of  Victory.  He  took  Gouache's  hand  and  slipped  the 
ring  upon  his  finger.  He  had  taken  a  singular  liking  to 
Anastase. 

"Wear  it  as  a  little  souvenir  of  me,"  he  said  kindly. 
"  It  is  a  Victory;  you  are  a  soldier  now,  so  I  pray  that 
victory  may  go  with  you ;  and  I  give  Victory  herself  into 
your  hands." 

"  And  I,"  said  Gouache,  "  will  pray  that  it  may  be  a 
symbol  in  my  hand  of  the  real  victories  you  are  to  win." 

"  Only  a  symbol,"  returned  the  Cardinal,  thoughtfully. 
"  Nothing  but  a  symbol.  I  was  not  born  to  conquer,  but 
to  lead  a  forlorn-hope — to  deceive  vanquished  men  with  a 
hope  not  real,  and  to  deceive  the  victors  with  an  unreal 
fear.  Nevertheless,  my  friend,"  he  added,  grasping  Gou 
ache's  hand,  and  fixing  upon  him  his  small  bright  eyes, — 
"  nevertheless,  let  us  fight,  fight — fight  to  the  very  end  ! " 

"We  will  fight  to  the  end,  Eminence,"  said  Gouache. 
He  was  only  a  private  of  Zouaves,  and  the  man  whose 
hand  he  held  was  great  and  powerful ;  but  the  same  spirit 
was  in  the  hearts  of  both,  the  same  courage,  the  same  de 
votion  to  the  failing  cause — and  both  kept  their  words, 
each  in  his  own  way. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Astrardente  was  in  some  respects  a  picturesque  place. 
The  position  of  the  little  town  gave  it  a  view  in  both 
directions  from  where  it  stood ;  for  it  was  built  upon  a 
precipitous  eminence  rising  suddenly  out  of  the  midst  of 
the  narrow  strip  of  fertile  land,  the  long  and  rising  valley 


294  SAEACINESCA. 

which,  from  its  lower  extremity,  conducted  by  many  cir 
cuits  to  the  Roman  Campagna,  and  which  ended  above  in 
the  first  rough  passes  of  the  lower  Abruzzi.  The  base  of 
the  town  extended  into  the  vineyards  and  olive -orchards 
which  surrounded  the  little  hill  on  all  sides  ;  and  the  sum 
mit  of  it  was  crowned  by  the  feudal  palace-castle— an 
enormous  building  of  solid  stone,  in  the  style  of  the  fifteenth, 
century.  Upon  the  same  spot  had  formally  stood  a  rugged 
fortress,  but  the  magnificent  ideas  of  the  Astrardente  pope 
had  not  tolerated  such  remains  of  barbarism ;  the  ancient 
stronghold  had  been  torn  down,  and  on  its  foundations  rose 
a  gigantic  mansion,  consisting  of  a  main  palace,  with  great 
balconies  and  columned  front,  overlooking  the  town,  and 
of  two  massive  wings  leading  back  like  towers  to  the  edge 
of  the  precipitous  rock  to  northwards.  Between  these 
wings  a  great  paved  court  formed  a  sort  of  terrace,  open 
upon  one  side,  and  ornamented  within  with  a  few  antique 
statues  dug  up  upon  the  estates,  and  with  numerous  plants, 
which  the  old  duke  had  caused  to  be  carefully  cultivated 
in  vases,  and  which  were  only  exposed  upon  the  terrace 
during  the  warm  summer  months.  The  view  from  the 
court  was  to  the  north — that  is  to  say,  down  the  valley, 
comprehending  ranges  of  hills  that  seemed  to  cross  and 
recross  into  the  extreme  distance,  their  outlines  being 
each  time  less  clearly  defined,  as  the  masses  in  each  suc 
ceeding  range  took  a  softer  purple  hue. 

Within,  the  palace  presented  a  great  variety  of  apart 
ments.  There  were  suites  of  vaulted  rooms  upon  the  lower 
floor,  frescoed  in  the  good  manner  of  the  fifteenth  cen 
tury  ;  there  were  other  suites  above,  hung  with  ancient 
tapestry  and  furnished  with  old-fashioned  marble  tables, 
and  mirrors  in  heavily  gilt  frames,  and  one  entire  wing 
had  been  lately  fitted  up  in  the  modern  style.  In  this 
part  of  the  house  Corona  established  herself  with  Sister 
Gabrielle,  and  began  to  lead  a  life  of  regular  occupations 
and  profound  retirement,  which  seemed  to  be  rather  a  con 
tinuation  of  her  existence  in  the  convent  where  she  had 
been  educated  as  a  girl,  than  to  form  any  part  in  the  life 


SAKACINESCA.  295 

of  the  superb  Duchessa  d'Astrardente,  who  for  five  years 
had  been  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  persons  in  society. 
Every  morning  at  eight  o'clock  the  two  ladies,  always 
clad  in  deep  black,  attended  the  Mass  which  was  celebrated 
for  them  in  the  palace  chapel.  Then  Corona  walked  for 
an  hour  with  her  companion  upon  the  terrace,  or,  if  it 
rained,  beneath  the  covered  balconies  upon  the  south  side. 
The  morning  hours  she  passed  in  solitude,  reading  such 
books  of  devotion  and  serious  matter  as  most  suited  the 
sad  temper  of  her  mind ;  precisely  at  mid-day  she  and 
Sister  Gabrielle  breakfasted  together  in  a  sort  of  solemn 
state  ;  and  at  three  o'clock  the  great  landau,  with  its  black 
horses  and  mourning  liveries,  stood  under  the  inner  gate. 
The  two  ladies  appeared  five  minutes  later,  and  by  a  ges 
ture  Corona  indicated  whether  she  would  be  driven  up  or 
down  the  valley.  The  dashing  equipage  descended  the 
long  smooth  road  that  wound  through  the  town,  and  re 
turned  invariably  at  the  end  of  two  hours,  again  ascended 
the  tortuous  way,  and  disappeared  beneath  the  dark  en 
trance.  At  six  o'clock  dinner  was  served,  with  the  same 
solemn  state  as  attended  the  morning  meal ;  Corona  and 
Sister  Gabrielle  remained  together  until  ten,  and  the  day 
was  over.  There  was  no  more  variation  in  the  routine  of 
their  lives  than  if  they  had  been  moved  by  a  machinery 
connected  with  the  great  castle  clock  overhead,  which 
chimed  the  hours  and  the  quarters  by  day  and  night,  and 
regulated  the  doings  of  the  town  below. 

But  in  spite  of  this  unchanging  sequence  of  similar 
habit,  the  time  passed  pleasantly  for  Corona.  She  had 
had  too  much  of  the  brilliant  lights  and  the  buzzing  din 
of  society  for  the  last  five  years,  too  much  noise,  too  much 
idle  talk,  too  much  aimless  movement ;  she  needed  rest, 
too,  from  the  constant  strain  of  her  efforts  to  fulfil  her 
self-imposed  duties  towards  her  husband — most  of  all, 
perhaps,  she  required  a  respite  from  the  sufferings  she 
had  undergone  through  her  stifled  love  for  Giovanni  Sara- 
cinesca.  All  this  she  found  in  the  magnificent  calm  of 
the  life  at  Astrardente.  She  meditated  long  upon  the 


296  SARACINESCA. 

memory  of  her  husband,  recalling  lovingly  those  things 
which  had  been  most  worthy  in  him,  willingly  forgetting 
his  many  follies  and  vanities  and  moments  of  petulance. 
She  went  over  in  her  mind  the  many  and  varied  scenes  of 
the  past,  and  learned  to  love  the  sweet  and  silent  solitude 
of  the  present  by  comparison  of  it  with  all  the  useless 
and  noisy  activity  of  the  world  she  had  for  a  time  aban 
doned.  She  had  not  expected  to  find  anything  more  than 
a  passive  companion  in  Sister  G-abrielle ;  but  in  the  course 
of  their  daily  converse  she  discovered  in  her  a  character 
of  extreme  refinement  and  quick  perception,  a  depth  of- 
human  sympathy  and  a  breadth  of  experience  which 
amazed  her,  and  made  her  own  views  of  things  seem 
small.  The  Sister  was  devout  and  rigid  in  the  observ 
ance  of  the  institutions  of  her  order,  in  so  far  as  she 
was  able  to  follow  out  the  detail  of  religious  regulation 
without  interfering  with  the  convenience  of  her  com 
panion  ;  but  in  her  conversation  she  showed  an  intimate 
knowledge  of  character  which  was  a  constant  source  of 
pleasure  to  Corona,  who  told  the  Sister  long  stories  of 
people  she  had  known  for  the  sake  of  hearing  her  admir 
able  comments  upon  social  questions. 

But  besides  her  reading  and  her  long  hours  of  medita 
tion  and  her  talks  with  Sister  Gabrielle,  Corona  found 
occupation  in  the  state  of  the  town  below  her  residence. 
She  attempted  once  or  twice  to  visit  the  poor  cottages,  in 
the  hope  of  doing  some  good  ;  but  she  found  that  she  was 
such  an  object  of  holy  awe  to  the  inmates  that  they  were 
speechless  in  her  presence,  or  became  so  nervous  in  their 
desire  to  answer  her  questions,  that  the  information  she 
was  able  to  obtain  concerning  their  troubles  was  too  vague 
to  be  of  any  use. 

The  Italian  peasant  is  not  the  same  in  all  parts  of  the 
country,  as  is  generally  supposed ;  and  although  the  Tus 
can,  who  is  constantly  brought  into  familiar  contact  with 
his  landlord,  and  acquires  a  certain  pleasant  faith  in  him, 
grows  eloquent  upon  the  conditions  of  his  being,  the 
same  is  not  true  of  the  rougher  race  that  labours  in  the 


SABACINESCA.  297 

valleys  of  the  Sabine  and  the  Samnite  hills.  The  peasant 
of  the  Agro  Komano  is  indeed  capable  of  civilisation, 
and  he  is  able  to  understand  his  superiors,  provided  that 
he  is  gradually  accustomed  to  seeing  them :  unfortunately 
this  occurs  but  rarely.  Many  of  the  great  Roman  land 
holders  spend  a  couple  of  months  of  every  year  upon 
their  estates :  old  Astrardente  had  in  his  later  years  gone 
to  considerable  expense  in  refitting  and  repairing  the 
castle,  but  he  had  done  little  for  the  town.  Men  like 
the  Saracinesca,  however,  were  great  exceptions  at  that 
time ;  though  they  travelled  much  abroad,  they  often 
remained  for  many  months  in  their  rugged  old  fortress. 
They  knew  the  inhabitants  of  their  lands  far  and  wide, 
and  were  themselves  not  only  known  but  loved;  they 
spent  their  money  in  improving  the  condition  of  their 
peasants,  in  increasing  the  area  of  their  forests,  and  in 
fostering  the  fertility  of  the  soil,  but  they  cared  nothing 
for  adorning  the  grey  stone  walls  of  their  ancestors' 
stronghold.  It  had  done  well  enough  for  a  thousand 
years,  it  would  do  well  enough  still ;  it  had  stood  firm 
against  fierce  sieges  in  the  dark  ages  of  the  Eoman  bar- 
onry,  it  could  afford  to  stand  unchanged  in  its  monu 
mental  strength  against  the  advancing  sea  of  nineteenth- 
century  civilisation.  They  themselves,  father  and  son, 
were  content  with  such  practical  improvements  as  they 
could  introduce  for  the  good  of  their  people  and  the  en 
riching  of  their  land;  a  manly  race,  despising  luxury, 
they  cared  little  whether  their  home  was  thought  com 
fortable  by  the  few  guests  they  occasionally  invited  to 
spend  a  week  with  them.  They  saw  much  of  the  peas 
antry,  and  went  daily  among  them,  understanding  their 
wants,  and  wisely  promoting  in  their  minds  the  belief 
that  land  cannot  prosper  unless  both  landlord  and  tenant 
do  their  share. 

But  Astrardente  was  a  holding  of  a  very  different  kind, 
and  Corona,  in  her  first  attempts  at  understanding  the 
state  of  things,  found  herself  stopped  by  a  dead  wall  of 
silence,  beyond  which  she  guessed  that  there  lay  an 


298  SAKACINESCA. 

undiscovered  land  of  trouble.  She  knew  next  to  nothing 
of  the  condition  of  her  people ;  she  only  imperfectly 
understood  the  relations  in  which  they  actually  stood  to 
herself,  the  extent  of  her  power  over  them,  and  of  their 
power  over  her.  The  mysteries  of  emphyteusis,  emphy- 
teuma,  and  emphyteuta  were  still  hidden  to  her,  though 
her  steward  spoke  of  them  with  surprising  loquacity  and 
fluency.  She  laboured  hard  to  understand  the  system 
upon  which  her  tenants  held  their  lands  from  her,  and  it 
was  some  time  before  she  succeeded.  It  is  easier  to  ex 
plain  the  matter  at  once  than  to  follow  Corona  in  her 
attempts  to  comprehend  it. 

To  judge  from  the  terms  employed,  the  system  of  hold 
ings  common  in  the  Pontifical  States  has  descended  with 
out  interruption  from  the  time  of  the  Eomans  to  the 
present  day.  As  in  old  Roman  law,  emphyteusis,  now 
spelt  emfiteuse,  means  the  possession  of  rights  over 
another  person's  land,  capable  of  transmission  by  inher 
itance  ;  and  to-day,  as  under  the  Eomans,  the  holder  of 
such  rights  is  called  the  emphyteuta,  or  emftteuta.  How 
the  Eomans  came  to  use  Greek  words  in  their  tenant-law 
does  not  belong  to  the  matter  in  hand ;  these  words  are 
the  only  ones  now  in  use  in  this  part  of  Italy,  and  they 
are  used  precisely  as  they  were  in  remote  times. 

A  tenant  may  acquire  rights  of  emfiteuse  directly  from 
the  owner  of  the  land,  like  an  ordinary  lease ;  or  he  may 
acquire  them  by  settlement — "  squatting,"  as  the  popular 
term  is.  Wherever  land  is  lying  waste,  any  one  may 
establish  himself  upon  it  and  cultivate  it,  on  condition  of 
paying  to  the  owner  a  certain  proportion  of  the  yield  of 
the  land — generally  one  quarter — either  in  kind  or  in 
money.  The  landlord  may,  indeed,  refuse  the  right  of 
settlement  in  the  first  instance,  which  would  very  rarely 
occur,  since  most  people  who  own  barren  tracts  of  rock 
and  heath  are  only  too  glad  to  promote  any  kind  of  culti 
vation.  But  when  the  landlord  has  once  allowed  the 
right,  the  right  itself  is  constituted  thereby  into  a  pos 
session  of  which  the  peasant  may  dispose  as  he  pleases, 


SARACINESCA.  299 

even  by  selling  it  to  another.  The  law  provides,  how 
ever,  that  in  case  of  transfers  by  sale,  the  landlord  shall 
receive  one  year's  rent  in  kind  or  in  money  in  addition  to 
the  rent  due,  and  this  bonus  is  paid  jointly  by  the  buyer 
and  the  seller  according  to  agreement.  Such  holdings 
are  inherited  from  father  to  son  for  many  generations, 
and  are  considered  to  be  perpetual  leases.  The  landlord 
cannot  expel  a  tenant  except  for  non-payment  of  rent 
during  three  Consecutive  years.  In  actual  fact,  the  right 
of  the  emfiteuta  in  the  soil  is  far  more  important  than 
that  of  the  landlord  ;  for  the  tenant  can  cheat  his  land 
lord  as  much  as  he  pleases,  whereas  the  injustice  of  the 
law  provides  that  under  no  circumstances  whatsoever 
shall  the  landlord  cheat  the  tenant.  In  actual  fact,  also, 
the  rents  are  universally  paid  in  kind,  and  the  peasant 
eats  what  remains  of  the  produce,  so  that  very  little  cash 
is  seen  in  the  land. 

Corona  discovered  that  the  income  she  enjoyed  from 
the  lands  of  Astrardente  was  collected  by  the  basketful 
from  the  threshing-floors,  and  by  the  barrel  from  the  vine 
yards  of  some  two  hundred  tenants.  It  was  a  serious  mat 
ter  to  gather  from  two  hundred  threshing-floors  precisely 
a  quarter  of  the  grain  threshed,  and  from  fifty  or  sixty 
vineyards  precisely  a  quarter  of  the  wine  made  in  each. 
The  peasants  all  made  their  wine  at  the  same  time,  and 
all  threshed  their  grain  in  the  same  week.  If  the  agent 
was  not  on  the  spot  during  the  threshing  and  the  vintage, 
the  peasant  had  no  difficulty  whatever  in  hiding  a  large 
quantity  of  his  produce.  As  the  rent  was  never  fixed, 
but  depended  solely  on  the  yield  of  the  year,  it  was  pre 
eminently  to  the  advantage  of  the  tenant  to  throw  dust 
in  the  eyes  of  the  landlord  whenever  he  got  a  chance. 
The  landlord  found  the  business  of  watching  his  tenants 
tedious  and  unprofitable,  and  naturally  resorted  to  the 
crowning  evil  of  agricultural  evils — the  employment  of  a 
rent-farmer.  The  latter,  at  all  events,  was  willing  to  pay 
a  fixed  sum  yearly ;  and  if  the  sum  paid  was  generally 
considerably  below  the  real  value  of  the  rents,  the  arrange- 


300  SAEACINESCA. 

ment  at  least  assured  a  fixed  income  to  the  landlord,  with 
the  certainty  of  getting  it  without  trouble  to  himself.  The 
middleman  then  proceeded  to  grind  the  tenants  at  his 
leisure  and  discretion  in  order  to  make  the  best  of  his 
bargain.  The  result  was,  that  while  the  tenant  starved 
and  the  landlord  got  less  than  his  due  in  consideration  of 
being  saved  from  annoyance,  the  middleman  gradually 
accumulated  money. 

Upon  this  system  nine-tenths  of  the  land  in  the  Pon 
tifical  States  was  held,  and  much  of  the  same  land  is  so 
held  to-day,  in  spite  of  the  modern  tenant-law,  for  reasons 
which  will  be  clearly  explained  in  another  part  of  this 
history.  Corona  saw  and  understood  that  the  evil  was 
very  great.  She  discussed  the  matter  with  her  steward, 
or  ministro  as  he  was  called,  who  was  none  other  than  the 
aforesaid  middleman;  and  the  more  she  discussed  the 
question,  the  more  hopeless  the  question  appeared.  The 
steward  held  a  contract  from  her  dead  husband  for  a 
number  of  years.  He  had  regularly  paid  the  yearly  sums 
agreed  upon,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  remove  him 
for  several  years  to  come.  He,  of  course,  was  strenuously 
opposed  to  any  change,  and  did  his  best  to  make  himself 
appear  as  an  angel  of  mercy  and  justice,  presiding  over  a 
happy  family  of  rejoicing  peasants  in  the  heart  of  a  ter 
restrial  paradise.  Unfortunately  for  himself,  however, 
he  had  not  at  first  understood  the  motive  which  prompted 
Corona's  inquiries.  He  supposed  in  the  beginning  that 
she  was  not  satisfied  with  the  amount  of  rent  he  paid,  and 
that  at  the  expiration  of  his  contract  she  intended  to  raise 
the  sum ;  so  that,  on  the  first  occasion  when  she  sent  for 
him,  he  had  drawn  a  piteous  picture  of  the  peasant's  con 
dition,  and  had  expatiated  with  eloquence  on  his  own 
poverty,  and  on  the  extreme  difficulty  of  collecting  any 
rents  at  all.  It  was  not  until  he  discovered  that  Corona's 
chief  preoccupation  was  for  the  welfare  of  her  tenants  that 
he  changed  his  tactics,  and  endeavoured  to  prove  that  all 
was  for  the  best  upon  the  best  of  all  possible  estates. 

Then,  to  his  great  astonishment,  Corona  informed  him 


SAKACINESCA.  301 

that  his  contract  would  not  be  renewed,  and  that  at  the 
expiration  of  his  term  she  would  collect  her  rents  herself. 
It  had  taken  her  long  to  understand  the  situation,  but 
when  she  had  comprehended  it,  she  made  up  her  mind 
that  something  must  be  done.  If  her  fortune  had  de 
pended  solely  upon  the  income  she  received  from  the 
Astrardente  lands,  she  would  have  made  up  her  mind  to 
reduce  herself  to  penury  rather  than  allow  things  to 
go  in  the  way  they  were  going.  Fortunately  she  was 
rich,  and  if  she  had  not  all  the  experience  necessary  to 
deal  with  such  matters,  she  had  plenty  of  goodwill,  plenty 
of  generosity,  and  plenty  of  money.  In  her  simple 
theory  of  agrarian  economy  the  best  way  to  improve  an 
estate  seemed  to  be  to  spend  the  income  arising  from  it 
directly  upon  its  improvement,  until  she  could  take  the 
whole  management  of  it  into  her  own  hands.  The  trou 
ble,  as  she  thought,  was  that  there  was  too  little  money 
among  the  peasants  j  the  best  way  to  help  them  was  to  put 
money  within  their  reach.  The  only  question  was  how  to 
do  this  without  demoralising  them,  and  without  increas 
ing  their  liabilities  towards  the  ministro  or  middleman. 

Then  she  sent  for  the  curate.  From  him  she  learned 
that  the  people  did  well  enough  in  the  summer,  but  that 
the  winter  was  dreaded.  She  asked  why.  He  answered 
that  they  were  not  provident ;  that  the  land  system  was 
bad ;  and  that  even  if  they  saved  anything  the  ministro 
would  take  it  from  them.  She  inquired  whether  he 
thought  it  possible  to  induce  them  to  be  more  thrifty, 
He  thought  it  might  be  done  in  ten  years,  but  not  in  one. 

"  In  that  case/7  said  Corona,  "the  only  way  to  improve 
their  condition  is  to  give  them  work  in  the  winter.  1 
will  make  roads  through  the  estate,  and  build  large  dwell 
ing-houses  in  the  town.  There  shall  be  work  enough  fol 
everybody." 

It  was  a  simple  plan,  but  it  was  destined  to  be  carried 
into  execution,  and  to  change  the  face  of  the  Astrardente 
domain  in  a  few  years.  Corona  sent  to  Home  for  an 
engineer  who  was  also  a  good  architect,  and  she  set  her- 


302  SAHACINESCA. 

self  to  study  the  possibilities  of  the  place,  giving  the  man 
sufficient  scope,  and  only  insisting  that  there  should  be  no 
labour  and  no  material  imported  from  beyond  the  limits 
of  her  lands.  This  provided  her  with  an  occupation 
whereby  the  time  passed  quickly  enough. 

The  Lenten  season  ended,  and  Eastertide  ran  swiftly 
on  to  Pentecost.  The  early  fruit-trees  blossomed  white, 
and  the  flowers  fell  in  a  snow-shower  to  the  ground,  to 
give  place  to  the  cherries  and  the  almonds  and  the  pears. 
The  brown  bramble-hedges  turned  leafy,  and  were  alive 
with  little  birds  ;  and  the  great  green  lizards  shot  across 
the  woodland  paths  upon  the  hillside,  and  caught  the  flies 
that  buzzed  noisily  in  the  spring  sunshine.  The  dried-up 
vines  put  forth  tiny  leaves,  and  the  maize  shot  suddenly 
up  to  the  sun  out  of  the  rich  furrows,  like  myriads  of  bril 
liant  green  poignards  piercing  the  brown  skin  of  the  earth. 
By  the  roadside  the  grass  grew  high,  and  the  broad  shallow 
brooks  shrank  to  narrow  rivulets,  and  disappeared  in  the 
overgrowing  rushes  before  the  increasing  heat  of  the 
climbing  sun. 

Corona's  daily  round  of  life  never  changed,  but  as  the 
months  wore  on,  a  stealing  thought  came  often  and  often 
again — shy,  as  though  fearing  to  be  driven  away  ;  silent 
at  first,  as  a  shadow  in  a  dream,  but  taking  form  and 
reality  from  familiarity  with  its  own  self,  and  speaking 
intelligible  words,  saying  at  last  plainly,  "  Will  he  keep 
his  promise  ?  Will  he  never  come  ?  " 

But  he  came  not  as  the  fresh  colours  of  spring  deepened 
with  the  rich  maturity  of  summer ;  and  Corona,  gazing 
down  the  valley,  saw  the  change  that  came  over  the  fair 
earth,  and  half  guessed  the  change  that  was  coming  over 
her  own  life.  She  had  sought  solitude  instinctively,  but 
she  had  not  known  what  it  would  bring  her.  She  had 
desired  to  honour  her  dead  husband  by  withdrawing  from 
the  world  for  a  time  and  thinking  of  him  and  remembering 
him.  She  had  done  so,  but  the  youth  in  her  rebelled  at 
last  against  the  constant  memory  of  old  age — of  an  old  age, 
too,  which  had  passed  away  from  her  and  was  dead  for  ever. 


SARACINESCA.  303 

It  was  right  to  dwell  for  a  time  upon  tlie  thought  of  her 
widowhood,  but  the  voice  said  it  would  not  be  always  right. 
The  calm  and  noiseless  tide  of  the  old  man's  ceasing  life 
had  ebbed  slowly  and  reluctantly  from  her  shore,  and  she 
had  followed  the  sad  sea  in  her  sorrow  to  the  furthest  verge 
of  its  retreat ;  but  as  she  stood  upon  the  edge  of  the  stag 
nant  waters,  gazing  far  out  and  trying  to  follow  even 
further  the  slow  subsiding  ooze,  the  tide  had  turned  upon 
her  unawares,  the  fresh  seaward  breeze  sprang  up  and 
broke  the  dead  calm  with  the  fresh  motion  of  crisp 
ripples  that  once  more  flowed  gladly  over  the  dreary 
sand,  and  the  waters  of  life  plashed  again  and  laughed 
gladly  together  around  her  feet. 

The  thought  of  Giovanni — the  one  thought  that  again 
and  again  kept  recurring  in  her  mind — grew  very  sweet, — 
as  sweet  as  it  had  once  been  bitter.  There  was  nothing  to 
stop  its  growth  now,  and  she  let  it  have  its  way.  What 
did  it  matter,  so  long  as  he  did  not  come  near  her — for  the 
present  ?  Some  day  he  would  come ;  she  wondered  when, 
and  how  long  he  would  keep  his  promise.  But  meanwhile 
she  was  not  unhappy,  and  she  went  about  her  occupations 
as  before ;  only  sometimes  she  would  go  alone  at  evening 
to  the  balcony  that  faced  the  higher  mountains,  and  there 
she  would  stand  for  half  an  hour  gazing  southward  to 
wards  the  precipitous  rocks  that  caught  the  red  glare  of 
the  sinking  sun,  and  she  asked  herself  if  he  were  there, 
or  whether,  as  report  had  told  her,  he  were  in  the  far  north. 
It  was  but  half  a  day's  ride  over  the  hills,  he  had  said. 
But  strain  her  sight  as  she  would,  she  could  not  pierce 
the  heavy  crags  nor  see  into  the  wooded  dells  beyond. 
He  had  said  he  would  pass  the  summer  there ;  had  he 
changed  his  mind  ? 

But  she  was  not  unhappy.  There  was  that  in  her  which 
forbade  unhappiness,  which  would  have  broken  out  into 
great  joy  if  she  would  have  let  it;  but  yet  she  would  not. 
It  was  too  soon  yet  to  say  aloud  what  she  said  in  her  heart 
daily,  that  she  loved  Giovanni  with  a  great  love,  and  that 
she  knew  she  was  free  to  love  him.  In  that  thought  there 


304  SARACINESCA. 

was  enough  of  joy.  But  he  might  come  if  he  would ;  her 
anger  would  not  be  great  if  he  broke  his  promise  now,  he 
had  kept  it  so  long — six  whole  months.  But  by-and-by, 
as  the  days  passed,  the  first  note  of  happiness  was  marred 
by  the  discordant  ring  of  a  distant  fear.  What  if  she 
had  too  effectually  forbidden  him  to  see  her  ?  What  if 
he  had  gone  out  disappointed  of  all  hope,  and  was  really 
in  distant  Scandinavia,  as  the  papers  said,  risking  his  life 
in  mad  adventures  ? 

But  after  all,  that  was  not  what  she  feared.  He  was 
strong,  young,  brave — he  had  survived  a  thousand  dangers, 
he  would  survive  these  also.  There  arose  between  her 
and  the  thought  of  him  an  evil  shadow,  the  image  of  a 
woman,  and  it  took  the  shape  of  Donna  Tullia  so  vividly 
that  she  could  see  the  red  lips  move  and  almost  hear  the 
noisy  laugh.  She  was  angry  with  herself  at  the  idea,  but 
it  recurred  continually  and  gave  her  pain,  and  the  pain 
grew  to  an  intolerable  fear.  She  began  to  feel  that  she 
must  know  where  he  was,  at  any  cost,  or  she  cou]d  have 
no  peace.  She  was  restless  and  nervous,  and  began  to  be 
absent-minded  in  her  conversation  with  Sister  Gabrielle. 
The  good  woman  saw  it,  and  advised  a  little  change — 
anything,  an  excursion  of  a  day  for  instance.  Corona,  she 
said,  was  too  young  to  lead  this  life. 

Her  mind  leaped  at  the  idea.  It  was  but  half  a  day's 
ride,  he  had  said ;  she  would  climb  those  hills  and  look 
down  upon  Saracinesca — only  once.  She  might  perhaps 
meet  some  peasant,  and  by  a  careless  inquiry  she  would 
learn  whether  he  was  there — or  would  be  there  in  the 
summer.  IsTo  one  would  know ;  and  besides,  Sister  Gabri 
elle  had  said  that  an  excursion  would  do  Corona  good. 
Sister  Gabrielle  had  probably  never  heard  that  Saracinesca 
was  so  near,  and  she  certainly  would  not  guess  that  the 
Duchessa  had  any  interest  in  its  lord.  She  announced 
her  intention,  and  the  Sister  approved — she  herself,  she 
said,  was  too  weak  to  undergo  the  fatigue. 

On  the  following  morning,  Corona  alone  entered  her 
carriage  and  was  driven  many  miles  up  the  southward 


SAKACINESCA.  305 

hills,  till  the  road  was  joined  by  a  broad  bridle-path  that 
led  eastwards  towards  the  Abruzzi.  Here  she  was  met  by 
a  party  of  horsemen,  her  own  guardiani,  or  forest-keepers, 
as  they  are  called,  in  rough  dark-blue  coats  and  leathern 
gaiters.  Each  man  wore  upon  his  breast  a  round  plate  of 
chiselled  silver,  bearing  the  arms  of  the  Astrardente ;  each 
had  a  long  rifle  slung  behind  him,  and  carried  a  holster 
at  the  bow  of  his  huge  saddle.  A  couple  of  sturdy  black- 
browed  peasants  held  a  mule  by  the  bridle,  heavily  capari 
soned  in  the  old  fashion,  under  a  great  red  velvet  Spanish 
saddle,  with  long  tarnished  trappings  that  had  once  been 
embroidered  with  silver.  A  little  knot  of  peasants  and 
ragged  boys  stood  all  around  watching  the  preparations 
with  interest,  and  commenting  audibly  upon  the  beauty  of 
the  great  lady. 

Corona  mounted  from  a  stone  by  the  wayside,  and  the 
young  men  led  her  beast  up  the  path.  She  smiled  to 
herself,  for  she  had  never  done  such  a  thing  before,  but 
she  was  not  uneasy  in  the  company  of  her  rough-looking 
escort.  She  knew  well  enough  that  she  was  as  safe  with 
them  as  in  her  own  house. 

As  the  bridle-path  wound  up  from  the  road,  the  coun 
try  grew  more  rugged,  the  vegetation  more  scanty,  and 
the  stones  more  plentiful.  It  was  a  wilderness  of  rocky 
desolation ;  as  far  as  one  could  see  there  was  no  sign  of 
humanity,  not  a  soul  upon  the  solitary  road,  not  a  living 
thing  upon  the  desolate  hills  that  rose  on  either  side  in 
jagged  points  to  the  sky.  Corona  talked  a  little  with  the 
head-keeper  who  rode  beside  her  with  a  slack  rein,  letting 
his  small  mountain  horse  pick  its  own  way  over  the  rough 
path.  He  told  her  that  few  people  ever  passed  that  way. 
It  was  the  short  road  to  Saracinesca.  The  princes  some 
times  sent  their  carriage  round  by  the  longer  way  and 
rode  over  the  hills ;  and  in  the  vintage-time  there  was 
some  traffic,  as  many  of  the  smaller  peasants  carried 
grapes  across  the  pass  to  the  larger  wine-presses,  and 
sold  them  outright.  It  was  not  a  dangerous  road,  for 
the  very  reason  that  it  was  so  unfrequented.  The 


806  SABACINESCA. 

Duchessa  explained  that  she  only  wanted  to  see  the  val 
ley  beyond  from  the  summit  of  the  pass,  and  would  then 
return.  It  was  past  mid-day  when  the  party  reached  the 
highest  point, — a  depression  between  the  crags  just  wide 
enough  to  admit  one  loaded  mule.  The  keeper  said  she 
could  see  Saracinesca  from  the  end  of  the  narrow  way, 
before  the  descent  began.  She  uttered  an  exclamation 
of  surprise  as  she  reached  the  spot. 

Scarcely  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  right,  at  the  ex 
tremity  of  a  broad  hill-road,  she  saw  the  huge  towers  of 
Saracinesca,  grey  and  storm-beaten,  rising  out  of  a  thick 
wood.  The  whole  intervening  space — and  indeed  the 
whole  deep  valley  as  far  as  she  could  see — was  an  un 
broken  forest  of  chestnut-trees.  Here  and  there  below 
the  castle  the  houses  of  the  town  showed  their  tiled 
gables,  but  the  mass  of  the  buildings  was  hidden  com 
pletely  from  sight.  Corona  had  had  no  idea  that  she 
should  find  herself  so  near  to  the  place,  and  she  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  fear  lest  Giovanni  should  appear 
upon  the  long  straight  path  that  led  into  the  trees.  She 
drew  back  a  little  among  her  followers. 

"  Are  the  princes  there  now  ?  "  she  asked  of  the  head- 
keeper. 

He  did  not  know  ;  but  a  moment  later  a  peasant,  riding 
astride  of  a  bag  of  corn  upon  his  donkey's  back,  passed 
along  the  straight  road  by  the  entrance  to  the  bridle-path. 
The  keeper  hailed  him,  and  put  the  question.  Seeing 
Corona  upon  her  mule,  surrounded  by  armed  men  in  liv 
ery,  the  man  halted,  and  pulled  off  his  soft  black-cloth 
hat. 

Both  the  princes  were  in  Saracinesca,  he  said.  The 
young  prince  had  been  there  ever  since  Easter.  They 
were  busy  building  an  aqueduct  which  was  to  supply  the 
whole  town  with  water ;  it  was  to  pass  above,  up  there 
among  the  woods.  The  princes  went  almost  every  day 
to  visit  the  works.  Her  Excellency  might,  perhaps,  find 
them  there  now,  or  if  not,  they  were  at  the  castle. 

But  her  Excellency  had  no  intention  of  finding  them. 


SAEACINESCA.  307 

She  gave  the  fellow  a  coin,  and  beat  a  somewhat  hasty 
retreat.  Her  followers  were  silent  men,  accustomed  to 
obey,  and  they  followed  her  down  the  steep  path  without 
even  exchanging  a  word  among  themselves.  Beneath  the 
shade  of  an  overhanging  rock  she  halted,  and,  dismount 
ing  from  her  mule,  was  served  with  the  lunch  that  had 
been  brought.  She  ate  little,  and  then  sat  thoughtfully 
contemplating  the  bare  stones,  while  the  men  at  a  little 
distance  hastily  disposed  of  the  remains  of  her  meal. 
She  had  experienced  an  extraordinary  emotion  on  find 
ing  herself  suddenly  so  near  to  Giovanni ;  it  was  almost 
as  though  she  had  seen  him,  and  her  heart  beat  fast, 
while  a  dark  flush  rose  from  time  to  time  to  her  cheek. 
It  would  have  been  so  natural  that  he  should  pass  that 
way,  just  as  she  was  halting  at  the  entrance  to  the  bridle 
path.  How  unspeakably  dreadful  it  would  have  been  to 
be  discovered  thus  spying  out  his  dwelling-place  when 
she  had  so  strictly  forbidden  him  to  attempt  to  see  her ! 
The  blush  burned  upon  her  cheeks — she  had  done  a  thing 
so  undignified,  so  ill  befitting  her  magnificent  superiority. 
For  a  moment  she  was  desperately  ashamed.  But  for  all 
that,  she  could  not  repress  the  glad  delight  she  felt  at 
knowing  that  he  was  there  after  all ;  that,  if  he  had  kept 
his  word  in  avoiding  her,  he  had,  nevertheless,  also  ful 
filled  his  intention  of  spending  the  summer  in  Sara- 
cinesca.  He  had  even  been  there  since  Easter,  and  the 
story  of  his  going  to  the  North  had  been  a  mere  inven 
tion  of  the  newspapers.  She  could  not  understand  his 
conduct,  nor  why  he  had  gone  to  Paris — a  fact  attested 
by  people  who  knew  him.  It  had  probably  been  for  some 
matter  of  business — that  excuse  which,  in  a  woman's 
mind,  explains  almost  any  sudden  journey  a  man  may 
undertake.  But  he  was  there  in  the  castle  now,  and  her 
heart  was  satisfied. 

The  men  packed  the  things  in  the  basket,  and  Corona 
was  helped  upon  her  mule.  Slowly  the  party  descended 
the  steep  path  that  grew  broader  and  more  practicable  as 
they  iieared  the  bottom  j  there  the  carriage  awaited  her, 


308  SAKACINESCA. 

and  soon  she  was  bowling  along  the  smooth  road  towards 
home,  leaving  far  behind  her  the  mounted  guards,  the 
peasants,  and  her  slow-paced  mule.  The  sun  was  low 
when  the  carriage  rolled  under  the  archway  of  Astrar- 
dente.  Sister  Gabrielle  said  Corona  looked  much  the 
better  for  her  excursion,  and  she  added  that  she  must  be 
very  strong  to  bear  such  fatigue  so  well.  And  the  next 
day — and  for  many  days — the  Sister  noticed  the  change 
in  her  hostess's  manner,  and  promised  herself  that  if  the 
Duchessa  became  uneasy  again  she  would  advise  another 
.day  among  the  hill's,  so  wonderful  was  the  effect  of  a 
slight  change  from  the  ordinary  routine  of  her  life. 

That  night  old  Saracinesca  and  his  son  sat  at  dinner  in 
a  wide  hall  of  their  castle.  The  faithful  Pasquale  served 
them  as  solemnly  as  he  was  used  to  do  in  Rome.  This 
evening  he  spoke  again.  He  had  ventured  no  remark  since 
he  had  informed  them  of  the  Duca  d'Astrardente's  death. 

"  I  beg  your  Excellencies'  pardon,"  he  began,  adopting 
his  usual  formula  of  apologetic  address. 

"  Well,  Pasquale,  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  old  Saracinesca. 

"  I  did  not  know  whether  your  Excellency  was  aware 
that  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente  had  been  here  to-day." 

"  What  ?  "  roared  the  Prince. 

"  You  must  be  mad,  Pasquale  ?  "  exclaimed  Giovanni  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  I  beg  your  Excellencies'  pardon  if  I  am  wrong,  but 
this  is  how  I  know.  Gigi  Secchi,  the  peasant  from 
Aquaviva  in  the  lower  forest,  brought  a  bag  of  corn  to  the 
mill  to-day,  and  he  told  the  miller,  and  the  miller  told 
Ettore,  and  Ettore  told  Nino,  and  Nino  told " 

"  What  the  devil  did  he  tell  him  ?  "  interrupted  old 
Saracinesca. 

"Nino  told  the  cook's  boy,"  continued  Pasquale  un 
moved,  "  and  the  cook's  boy  told  me,  your  Excellency,  that 
Gigi  was  passing  along  the  road  to  Serveti  coming  here, 
when  he  was  stopped  by  a  number  of  guardiani  who  ac 
companied  a  beautiful  dark  lady  in  black,  who  rode  upon 
a  mule,  and  the  guardiani  asked  him  if  your  Excellencies 


SABACINESCA.  309 

were  at  Saracinesca ;  and  when  he  said  you  were,  the  lady 
gave  him  a  coin,  and  turned  at  once  and  rode  down  the 
bridle-path  towards  Astrardente,  and  he  said  the  guardiani 
were  those  of  the  Astrardente,  because  he  remembered  to 
have  seen  one  of  them,  who  has  a  scar  over  his  left  eye, 
at  the  great  fair  at  Genazzano  last  year.  And  that  is  how 
I  heard." 

"  That  is  a  remarkable  narrative,  Pasquale,"  answered 
the  Prince,  laughing  loudly,  "  but  it  seems  very  credible. 
Go  and  send  for  Gigi  Secchi  if  he  is  still  in  the  neigh 
bourhood,  and  bring  him  here,  and  let  us  have  the  story 
from  his  own  lips." 

When  they  were  alone  the  two  men  looked  at  each 
other  for  a  moment,  and  then  old  Saracinesca  laughed 
again ;  but  Giovanni  looked  very  grave,  and  his  face  was 
pale.  Presently  his  father  became  serious  again. 

"  If  this  thing  is  true,"  he  said,  "  I  would  advise  you, 
Giovanni,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  other  side  of  the  hills.  It 
is  time." 

Giovanni  was  silent  for  a  moment.  He  was  intensely 
interested  in  the  situation,  but  he  could  not  tell  his  father 
that  he  had  promised  Corona  not  to  see  her,  and  he  had 
not  yet  explained  to  himself  her  sudden  appearance  so 
near  Saracinesca. 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  go  first,"  he 
said  to  his  father.  "But  I  am  not  at  all  sure  this  story 
is  true." 

"  I  ?  Oh,  I  will  go  when  you  please,"  returned  the  old 
man,  with  another  laugh.  He  was  always  ready  for  any 
thing  active. 

But  Gigi  Secchi  could  not  be  found.  He  had  returned 
to  Aquaviva  at  once,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  send  a  mes 
sage.  Two  days  later,  however,  Giovanni  took  the  trouble 
of  going  to  the  man's  home.  He  was  not  altogether  sur 
prised  when  Gigi  confirmed  Pasquale's  tale  in  every  par 
ticular.  Corona  had  actually  been  at  Saracinesca  to  find 
out  if  Giovanni  was  there  or  not ;  and  on  hearing  that  he 
was  at  the  castle,  she  had  fled  precipitately.  Giovanni  was 

Vol.  10—14  J 


310  SARACINESCA. 

naturally  grave  and  of  a  melancholy  temper  j  but  during 
the  last  few  months  he  had  been  more  than  usually  taci 
turn,  occupying  himself  with  dogged  obstinacy  in  the  con 
struction  of  his  aqueduct,  visiting  the  works  in  the  day 
and  spending  hours  in  the  evening  over  the  plans.  He 
was  waiting.  He  believed  that  Corona  cared  for  him, 
and  he  knew  that  he  loved  her,  but  for  the  present  he 
must  wait  patiently,  both  for  the  sake  of  his  promise  and 
for  the  sake  of  a  decent  respect  of  her  widowhood.  In 
order  to  wait  he  felt  the  necessity  of  constant  occupation, 
and  to  that  end  he  had  set  himself  resolutely  to  work 
with  his  father,  whose  ideal  dream  was  to  make  Sara- 
cinesca  the  most  complete  and  prosperous  community  in 
that  part  of  the  mountains. 

"  I  think  if  you  would  go  over,"  he  said,  at  the  end  of  a 
week,  "  it  would  be  much  better.  I  do  not  want  to  intrude 
myself  upon  her  at  present,  and  you  could  easily  find  out 
whether  she  would  like  to  see  me.  After  all,  she  may  have 
been  merely  making  an  excursion  for  her  amusement,  and 
may  have  chanced  upon  us  by  accident.  I  have  often 
noticed  how  suddenly  one  comes  in  view  of  the  castle 
from  that  bridle-path." 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  returned  the  Prince  with  a  smile, 
"  any  one  would  tell  her  that  the  path  leads  nowhere  ex 
cept  to  Saracinesca.  But  I  will  go  to-morrow,"  he  added. 
"  I  will  set  your  mind  at  rest  in  twenty-four  hours." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Giovanni. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Old  Saracinesca  kept  his  word,  and  on  the  following 
morning,  eight  days  after  Corona's  excursion  upon  the 
hills,  he  rode  down  to  Astrardente,  reaching  the  palace  at 
about  mid-day.  He  sent  in  his  card,  and  stood  waiting 
beneath  the  great  gate,  beating  the  dust  from  his  boots 


SAKACINESCA.  311 

with  his  heavy  whip.  His  face  looked  darker  than  ever, 
from  constant  exposure  to  the  sun,  and  his  close-cropped 
hair  and  short  square  beard  had  turned  even  whiter  than 
before  in  the  last  six  months,  but  his  strong  form  was 
erect,  and  his  step  firm  and  elastic.  He  was  a  remark 
able  old  man  j  many  a  boy  of  twenty  might  have  envied 
his  strength  and  energetic  vitality. 

Corona  was  at  her  mid-day  breakfast  with  Sister  Gabri- 
elle,  when  the  old  Prince's  card  was  brought.  She  started 
at  the  sight  of  the  name;  and  though  upon  the  bit  of 
pasteboard  she  read  plainly  enough,  "  H  Principe  di  /Sara- 
cinesca,"  she  hesitated,  and  asked  the  butler  if  it  was 
really  the  Prince.  He  said  it  was. 

"  Would  you  mind  seeing  him  ?  "  she  asked  of  Sister 
Gabrielle.  "  He  is  an  old  gentleman,"  she  added,  in  ex 
planation — "  a  near  neighbour  here  in  the  mountains." 

Sister  Gabrielle  had  no  objection.  She  even  remarked 
that  it  would  do  the  Duchessa  good  to  see  some  one. 

"  Ask  the  Prince  to  come  in,  and  put  another  place  at 
the  table,"  said  Corona. 

A  moment  later  the  old  man  entered,  and  Corona  rose 
to  receive  him.  There  was  something  refreshing  in  the 
ring  of  his  deep  voice  and  the  clank  of  his  spurs  as  he 
crossed  the  marble  floor. 

"  Signora  Duchessa,  you  are  very  good  to  receive  me. 
I  did  not  know  that  this  was  your  breakfast-hour.  Ah ! " 
he  exclaimed,  glancing  at  Sister  Gabrielle,  who  had  also 
risen  to  her  feet,  "  good  day,  my  Sister." 

"Sister  Gabrielle,"  said  Corona,  as  an  introduction; 
"  she  is  good  enough  to  be  my  companion  in  solitude." 

To  tell  the  truth,  Corona  felt  uneasy ;  but  the  sensa 
tion  was  somehow  rather  pleasurable,  although  it  crossed 
her  mind  that  the  Prince  might  have  heard  of  her  excur 
sion,  and  had  possibly  come  to  find  out  why  she  had  been 
so  near  to  his  place.  She  boldly  faced  the  situation. 

"I  nearly  came  upon  you  the  other  day  as  unex 
pectedly  as  you  have  visited  me,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 
"  I  had  a  fancy  to  look  over  into  your  valley,  and  when 


312  SAKACINESCA. 

I  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  I  found  I  was  almost  in 
your  house." 

'<  I  wish  you  had  quite  been  there,"  returned  the  Prince. 
"Of  course  I  heard  that  you  had  been  seen,  and  we 
guessed  you  had  stumbled  upon  us  in  some  mountain 
excursion.  My  son  rode  all  the  way  to  Aquaviva  to  see 
the  man  who  had  spoken  with  you." 

Saracinesca  said  this  as  though  it  were  perfectly  nat 
ural,  helping  himself  to  the  dish  the  servant  offered  him. 
But  when  he  looked  up  he  saw  that  Corona  blushed 
beneath  her  dark  skin. 

"  It  is  such  a  very  sudden  view  at  that  point,"  she  said, 
nervously,  "  that  I  was  startled." 

"  I  wish  you  had  preserved  your  equanimity  to  the  ex 
tent  of  going  a  little  further.  Saracinesca  has  rarely 
been  honoured  with  the  visit  of  a  Duchessa  d'Astrardente. 
But  since  you  have  explained  your  visit — or  the  visit 
which  you  did  not  make — I  ought  to  explain  mine.  You 
must  know,  in  the  first  place,  that  I  am  not  here  by 
accident,  but  by  intention,  preconceived,  well  pondered, 
and  finally  executed  to  my  own  complete  satisfaction.  I 
came,  not  to  get  a  glimpse  of  your  valley  nor  a  distant 
view  of  your  palace,  but  to  see  you,  yourself.  Your 
hospitality  in  receiving  me  has  therefore  crowned  and 
complimented  the  desire  I  had  of  seeing  you." 

Corona  laughed  a  little. 

"  That  is  a  very  pretty  speech,"  she  said. 

"  Which  you  would  have  lost  if  you  had  not  received 
me,"  he  answered,  gaily.  "  I  have  not  done  yet.  I  have 
many  pretty  speeches  for  you.  The  sight  of  you  induces 
beauty  in  language  as  the  sun  in  May  makes  the  flowers 
open." 

"  That  is  another,"  laughed  Corona.  "  Do  you  spend 
your  days  in  studying  the  poets  at  Saracinesca  ?  Does 
Don  Giovanni  study  with  you  ?  " 

"  Giovanni  is  a  fact,"  returned  the  Prince ;  "  I  am  a 
fable.  Old  men  are  always  fables,  for  they  represent,  in 
a  harmless  form,  the  follies  of  all  mankind  j  their  end  is 


SAKACINESCA.  313 

always  in  itself  a  moral,  and  young  people  can  learn 
much  by  studying  them." 

"Your  comparison  is  witty,"  said  Corona,  who  was 
much  amused  at  old  Saracinesca's  conversation;  "but 
I  doubt  whether  you  are  so  harmless  as  you  repre 
sent.  You  are  certainly  not  foolish,  and  I  am  not  sure 

whether,  as  a  study  for  the  young "  she  hesitated, 

and  laughed. 

"  Whether  extremely  young  persons  would  have  the 
wit  to  comprehend  virtue  by  the  concealment  of  it — to 
say,  as  that  witty  old  Koman  said,  that  the  images  of 
Cassius  and  Brutus  were  more  remarkable  than  those  of 
any  one  else,  for  the  very  reason  that  they  were  nowhere 
to  be  seen-^-like  my  virtues  ?  Giovanni,  for  instance,  is 
the  very  reverse  of  me  in  that,  though  he  has  shown 
such  singularly  bad  taste  in  resembling  my  outward 
man." 

"One  should  never  conceal  virtues,"  said  Sister  Gabri- 
elle,  gently.  "  One  should  not  hide  one's  light  under  a 
basket,  you  know." 

"My  Sister,"  replied  the  old  Prince,  his  black  eyes 
twinkling  merrily,  "  if  I  had  in  my  whole  composition  as 
much  light  as  would  enable  you  to  read  half-a-dozen 
words  in  your  breviary,  it  should  be  at  your  disposal.  I 
would  set  it  in  the  midst  of  Piazza  Colonna,  and  call  it 
the  most  wonderful  illumination  on  record.  Unfortu 
nately  my  light,  like  the  lantern  of  a  solitary  miner,  is 
only  perceptible  to  myself,  and  dimly  at  that." 

"  You  must  not  depreciate  yourself  so  very  much,"  said 
Corona. 

"  No ;  that  is  true.  You  will  either  believe  I  am  speak 
ing  the  truth,  or  you  will  not.  I  do  not  know  which  would 
be  the  worse  fate.  I  will  change  the  subject.  My  son 
Giovanni,  Duchessa,  desires  to  be  remembered  in  your 
good  graces." 

"  Thanks.     How  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  well,  but  the  temper  of  him  is  marvellously 
melancholy.  He  is  building  an  aqueduct,  and  so  am  I. 


314  SAKACINESCA. 

The  thing  is  accomplished  by  his  working  perpetually 
while  I  smoke  cigarettes  and  read  novels." 

"  The  division  of  labour  is  to  your  advantage,  I  should 
say,"  remarked  Corona. 

"  Immensely,  I  assure  you.  He  promotes  the  natural 
advantages  of  my  lands,  and  I  encourage  the  traffic  in 
tobacco  and  literature.  He  works  from  morning  till 
night,  is  his  own  engineer,  contractor,  overseer,  and  mas 
ter-mason.  He  does  everything,  and  does  it  well.  If  we 
were  less  barbarous  in  our  bachelor  establishment  I 
would  ask  you  to  come  and  see  us — in  earnest  this  time 
— and  visit  the  work  we  are  doing.  It  is  well  worth 
while.  Perhaps  you  would  consent  as  it  is.  We  will 
vacate  the  castle  for  your  benefit,  and  mount  guard  out 
side  the  gates  all  night." 

Again  Corona  blushed.  She  would  have  given  any 
thing  to  go,  but  she  felt  that  it  was  impossible. 

"I  would  like  to  go,"  she  said.  "If  one  could  come 
back  the  same  day." 

"You  did  before,"  remarked  Saracinesca,  bluntly. 

"  But  it  was  late  when  I  reached  home,  and  I  spent 
no  time  at  all  there." 

"  I  know  you  did  not,"  laughed  the  old  man.  "  You 
gave  Gigi  Secchi  some  money,  and  then  fled  precipi 
tately." 

"  Indeed  I  was  afraid  you  would  suddenly  come  upon 
me,  and  I  ran  away,"  answered  Corona,  laughing  in  her 
turn,  as  the  dark  blood  rose  to  her  olive  cheeks. 

"  As  my  amiable  ancestors  did  in  the  same  place  when 
anybody  passed  with  a  full  purse,"  suggested  Saracinesca. 
"  But  we  have  improved  a  little  since  then.  We  would 
have  asked  you  to  breakfast.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  like  to  go  alone ;  I  cannot,  you  see.  Sister 
Gabrielle  could  never  ride  up  that  hill  on  a  mule." 

"  There  is  a  road  for  carriages,"  said  the  Prince.  "  I 
will  propose  something  in  the  way  of  a  compromise.  I 
will  bring  Giovanni  down  with  me  and  our  team  of  moun 
tain  horses.  Those  great  beasts  of  yours  cannot  do  this 


SARACINESCA.  315 

kind  of  work.  We  will  take  you  and  Sister  Gabrielle  up 
almost  as  fast  as  you  could  go  by  the  bridle-path." 

"  And  back  on  the  same  day  ?  "  asked  Corona. 

"  No ;  on  the  next  day." 

"  But  I  do  not  see  where  the  compromise  is,"  she  replied. 

"Sister  Gabrielle  is  at  once  the  compromise  and  the 
cause  that  you  will  not  be  compromised.  I  beg  her  par 
don " 

Both  ladies  laughed. 

"I  will  be  very  glad  to  go,"  said  the  Sister.  "I  do 
not  see  that  there  is  anything  extraordinary  in  the 
Prince's  proposal." 

"My  Sister,"  returned  Saracinesca,  "you  are  on  the 
way  to  saintship ;  you  already  enjoy  the  beatific  vision ; 
you  see  with  a  heavenly  perspicuity." 

"  It  is  a  charming  proposition,"  said  Corona ;  "  but  in 
that  case  you  will  have  to  come  down  the  day  before." 
She  was  a  little  embarrassed. 

"We  will  not  invade  the  cloister,"  answered  the  Prince. 
"  Giovanni  and  I  will  spend  the  night  in  concocting  pretty 
speeches,  and  will  appear  armed  with  them  at  dawn 
before  your  gates." 

"There  is  room  in  Astrardente,"  replied  Corona. 
"  You  shall  not  lack  hospitality  for  a  night.  When  will 
you  come  ?  " 

"To-morrow  evening,  if  you  please.  A  good  thing 
should  be  done  quickly,  in  order  not  to  delay  doing  it 
again." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  go  again  ?  " 

Saracinesca  fixed  his  black  eyes  on  Corona's,  and  gazed 
at  her  some  seconds  before  he  answered. 

"  Madam,"  he  said  at  last,  very  gravely,  "  I  trust  you 
will  come  again  and  stay  longer." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  returned  Corona,  quietly.  "  At 
all  events,  I  will  go  this  first  time." 

"  We  will  endeavour  to  show  our  gratitude  by  making 
you  comfortable,"  answered  the  Prince,  resuming  his 
former  tone.  "You  shall  have  a  mass  in  the  morning 


316  SARACINESCA. 

and  a  litany  in  the  evening.  We  are  .godless  fellows  up 
there,  but  we  have  a  priest." 

"  You  seem  to  associate  our  comfort  entirely  with  re 
ligious  services/'  laughed  Corona.  "But  you  are  very 
considerate." 

"  I  see  the  most  charming  evidence  of  devotion  at  your 
side,"  he  replied ;  "  Sister  Gabrielle  is  both  the  evidence 
of  your  piety  and  is  in  herself  an  exposition  of  the  bene 
fits  of  religion.  There  shall  be  other  attractions,  however, 
besides  masses  and  litanies." 

Breakfast  being  ended,  Sister  Gabrielle  left  the  two  to 
gether.  They  went  from  the  dining-room  to  the  great 
vaulted  hall  of  the  inner  building.  It  was  cool  there,  and 
there  were  great  old  arm-chairs  ranged  along  the  walls. 
The  closed  blinds  admitted  a  soft  green  light  from  the 
hot  noonday  without.  Corona  loved  to  walk  upon  the 
cool  marble  floor ;  she  was  a  very  strong  and  active 
woman,  delighting  in  mere  motion — not  restless,  but 
almost  incapable  of  weariness ;  her  movements  not  rapid, 
but  full  of  grace  and  ease.  Saracinesca  walked  by  her 
side,  smoking  thoughtfully  for  some  minutes. 

"  Duchessa,"  he  said  at  last,  glancing  at  her  beautiful 
face,  "things  are  greatly  changed  since  we  met  last.  You 
were  angry  with  me  then.  I  do  not  know  whether  you 
were  so  justly,  but  you  were  very  angry  for  a  few  moments. 
I  am  going  to  return  to  the  subject  now  j  I  trust  you  will 
not  be  offended  with  me." 

Corona  trembled  for  a  moment,  and  was  silent.  She 
would  have  prevented  him  from  going  on,  but  before  she 
could  find  the  words  she  sought  he  continued. 

"Things  are  much  changed,  in  some  respects;  in  others, 
not  at  all.  It  is  but  natural  to  suppose  that  in  the  course 
of  time  you  will  think  of  the  possibility  of  marrying  again. 
My  son,  Duchessa,  loves  you  very  truly.  Pardon  me,  it  is 
no  disrespect  to  you,  now,  that  he  should  have  told  me  so. 
I  am  his  father,  and  I  have  no  one  else  to  care  for.  He  is 
too  honest  a  gentleman  to  have  spoken  of  his  affection  for 
you  at  an  earlier  period,  but  he  has  told  me  of  it  now." 


SARACINESCA.  317 

Corona  stood  still  in  the  midst  of  the  great  hall,  and 
faced  the  old  Prince.  She  had  grown  pale  while  he  was 
speaking.  Still  she  was  silent. 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  say — that  is  all,"  said  Saracin- 
esca,  gazing  earnestly  into  the  depths  of  her  eyes.  "I 
have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"  Do  you  then  mean  to  repeat  the  warning  you  once 
gave  me?"  asked  Corona,  growing  whiter  still.  "Do 
you  mean  to  imply  that  there  is  danger  to  your  son  ?  " 

"There  is  danger — great  danger  for  him,  unless  you  will 
avert  it." 

"  And  how  ?  "  asked  Corona,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Madam,  by  becoming  his  wife." 

Corona  started  and  turned  away  in  great  agitation. 
Saracinesca  stood  still  while  she  slowly  walked  a  few  steps 
from  him.  She  could  not  speak. 

"  I  could  say  a  great  deal  more,  Duchessa,"  he  said,  as 
she  came  back  towards  him.  "I  could  say  that  the 
marriage  is  not  only  fitting  in  every  other  way,  but  is  also 
advantageous  from  a  worldly  point  of  view.  You  are  sole 
mistress  of  Astrardente  ;  my  son  will  before  long  be  sole 
master  of  Saracinesca.  Our  lands  are  near  together — that 
is  a  great  advantage,  that  question  of  fortune.  Again,  I 
would  observe  that,  with  your  magnificent  position,  you 
could  not  condescend  to  accept  a  man  of  lower  birth  than 
the  highest  in  the  country.  There  is  none  higher  than  the 
Saracinesca — pardon  my  arrogance, — and  among  princes 
there  is  no  braver,  truer  gentleman  than  my  son  Giovanni. 
I  ask  no  pardon  for  saying  that  j  I  will  maintain  it  against 
all  comers.  I  forego  all  questions  of  advantage,  and  base 
my  argument  upon  that.  He  is  the  best  man  I  know,  and 
he  loves  you  devotedly." 

"  Is  he  aware  that  you  are  here  for  this  purpose  ? " 
asked  Corona,  suddenly.  She  spoke  with  a  great  ef 
fort. 

"  No.  He  knows  that  I  am  here,  and  was  glad  that  I 
came.  He  desired  me  to  ascertain  if  you  would  see  him. 
He  would  certainly  not  have  thought  of  addressing  you 


318  SAHACINESCA. 

at  present.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  I  feel  that  I  must  do 
things  quickly.  That  is  my  excuse." 

Corona  was  again  silent.  She  was  too  truthful  to  give 
an  evasive  answer,  and  yet  she  hesitated  to  speak.  The 
position  was  an  embarrassing  one ;  she  was  taken  una 
wares,  and  was  terrified  at  the  emotion  she  felt.  It  had 
never  entered  her  mind  that  the  old  Prince  could  appear 
on  his  son's  behalf,  and  she  did  not  know  how  to  meet 
him. 

"I  have  perhaps  been  too  abrupt/'  said  Saracinesca. 
"  I  love  my  son  very  dearly,  and  his  happiness  is  more 
to  me  than  what  remains  of  my  own.  If  from  the  first 
you  regard  my  proposition  as  an  impossible  one,  I  would 
spare  him  the  pain  of  a  humiliation, — I  fear  I  could  not 
save  him  from  the  rest,  from  a  suffering  that  might  drive 
him  mad.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  implore  you,  if 
you  are  able,  to  give  me  some  answer,  not  that  I  may 
convey  it  to  him,  but  in  order  that  I  may  be  guided  in 
future.  He  cannot  forget  you ;  but  he  has  not  seen  you 
for  six  months.  To  see  you  again  if  he  must  leave  you 
for  ever,  would  only  inflict  a  fresh  wound."  He  paused, 
while  Corona  slowly  walked  by  his  side. 

"I  do  not  see  why  I  should  conceal  the  truth  from 
you,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  cannot  conceal  it  from  myself. 
I  am  not  a  child  that  I  should  be  ashamed  of  it.  There 
is  nothing  wrong  in  it — no  reason  why  it  should  not  be. 
You  are  honest,  too — why  should  we  try  to  deceive  our 
selves  ?  I  trust  to  your  honour  to  be  silent,  and  I  own 
that  I — that  I  love  your  son." 

Corona  stood  still  and  turned  her  face  away,  as  the 
burning  blush  rose  to  her  cheeks.  The  answer  she  had 
given  was  characteristic  of  her,  straightforward  and 
honest.  She  was  not  ashamed  of  it,  and  yet  the  words 
were  so  new,  so  strange  in  their  sound,  and  so  strong  in 
their  meaning,  that  she  blushed  as  she  uttered  them. 
Saracinesca  was  greatly  surprised,  too,  for  he  had  ex 
pected  some  evasive  turn,  some  hint  that  he  might  bring 
Giovanni.  But  his  delight  had  no  bounds. 


SARACINESCA.  319 

"  Duchessa,"  he  said,  "  the  happiest  day  I  can  remem 
ber  was  when  I  brought  home  my  wife  to  Saracinesca. 
My  proudest  day  will  be  that  on  which  my  son  enters  the 
same  gates  with  you  by  his  side." 

He  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  with  a 
courteous  gesture. 

"  It  will  be  long  before  that — it  must  be  very  long," 
answered  Corona. 

"  It  shall  be  when  you  please,  Madam,  provided  it  is  at 
last.  Meanwhile  we  will  come  down  to-morrow,  and  take 
you  to  our  tower.  Do  you  understand  now  why  I  said 
that  I  hoped  you  would  come  again  and  stay  longer  ?  I 
trust  you  have  not  changed  your  mind  in  regard  to  the 
excursion." 

"  No.  We  will  expect  you  to-morrow  night.  Kemem- 
ber,  I  have  been  honest  with  you — I  trust  to  you  to  be 
silent." 

"You  have  my  word.  And  now,  with  your  permis 
sion,  I  will  return  to  Saracinesca.  'Believe  me,  the  news 
that  you  expect  us  will  be  good  enough  to  tell  Giovanni." 

"  You  may  greet  him  from  me.  But  will  you  not  rest 
awhile  before  you  ride  back  ?  You  must  be  tired." 

"  No  fear  of  that !  "  answered  the  Prince.  "  You  have 
put  a  new  man  into  an  old  one.  I  shall  never  tire  of 
bearing  the  news  of  your  greetings." 

So  the  old  man  left  her,  and  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  up  the  pass.  But  Corona  remained  for  hours  in  the 
vaulted  hall,  pacing  up  and  down.  It  had  come  too  soon 
— far  too  soon.  And  yet,  how  she  had  longed  for  it! 
how  she  had  wondered  whether  it  would  ever  come  at 
all! 

The  situation  was  sufficiently  strange,  too.  Giovanni 
had  once  told  her  of  his  love,  and  she  had  silenced  him. 
He  was  to  tell  her  again,  and  she  was  to  accept  what  he 
said.  He  was  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  and  her  answer 
was  a  foregone  conclusion.  It  seemed  as  though  this 
greatest  event  of  her  life  were  planned  to  the  very  smallest 
details  beforehand  j  as  though  she  were  to  act  a  part  which 


320  SARACINESCA. 

she  had  studied,  and  which  was  yet  no  comedy  because  it 
was  the  expression  of  her  life's  truth.  The  future  had 
been,  as  it  were,  prophesied  and  completely  foretold  to 
her,  and  held  no  surprises ;  and  yet  it  was  more  sweet  to 
think  of  than  all  the  past  together.  She  wondered  how 
he  would  say  it,  what  his  words  would  be,  how  he  would 
look,  whether  he  would  again  be  as  strangely  violent  as  he 
had  been  that  night  at  the  Palazzo  Frangipani.  She 
wondered,  most  of  all,  how  she  would  answer  him.  But 
it  would  be  long  yet.  There  would  be  many  meetings, 
many  happy  days  before  that  happiest  day  of  all. 

Sister  Gabrielle  saw  a  wonderful  change  in  Corona's 
face  that  afternoon  when  they  drove  up  the  valley  together, 
and  she  remarked  what  wonderful  effect  a  little  variety 
had  upon  her  companion's  spirits — she  could  not  say  upon 
her  health,  for  Corona  seemed  made  of  velvet  and  steel,  so 
smooth  and  dark,  and  yet  so  supple  and  strong.  Corona 
smiled  brightly  as  she  looked  far  up  at  the  beetling  crags 
behind  which  Saracinesca  was  hidden. 

"  We  shall  be  up  there  the  day  after  to-morrow,"  she 
said.  "  How  strange  it  will  seem  !  "  And  leaning  back, 
her  deep  eyes  flashed,  and  she  laughed  happily. 

On  the  following  evening,  again,  they  drove  along  the 
road  that  led  up  the  valley.  But  they  had  not  gone  far 
when  they  saw  in  the  distance  a  cloud  of  dust,  from  which 
in  a  few  moments  emerged  a  vehicle  drawn  by  three  strong 
horses,  and  driven  by  Giovanni  Saracinesca  himself.  His 
father  sat  beside  him  in  front,  and  a  man  in  livery  was 
seated  at  the  back,  with  a  long  rifle  between  his  knees. 
The  vehicle  was  a  kind  of  double  cart,  capable  of  holding 
four  persons,  and  two  servants  at  the  back. 

In  a  moment  the  two  carriages  met  and  stopped  side  by 
side.  Giovanni  sprang  from  his  seat,  throwing  the  reins 
to  his  father,  who  stood  up  hat  in  hand,  and  bowed  from 
where  he  was.  Corona  held  out  her  hand  to  Giovanni  as 
he  stood  bareheaded  in  the  road  beside  her.  One  long 
look  told  all  the  tale  ;  there  could  be  no  words  there  before 
the  Sister  and  the  old  Princej  but  their  eyes  told  all — the 


SARACINESCA.  321 

pain  of  past  separation,  the  joy  of  two  loving  hearts  that 
met  at  last  without  hindrance. 

"  Let  your  servant  drive,  and  get  in  with  us,"  said  Co 
rona,  who  could  hardly  speak  in  her  excitement.  Then  she 
started  slightly,  and  smiled  in  her  embarrassment.  She 
had  continued  to  hold  Giovanni's  hand,  unconsciously 
leaving  her  fingers  in  his. 

The  Prince's  groom  climbed  into  the  front  seat,  and  old 
Saracinesca  got  down  and  entered  the  landau.  It  was 
a  strangely  silent  meeting,  long  expected  by  the  two  who 
so  loved  each  other — long  looked  for,  but  hardly  realised 
now  that  it  had  come.  The  Prince  was  the  first  to  speak, 
as  usual. 

"  You  expected  to  meet  us,  Duchessa  ?  "  he  said ;  "  we 
expected  to  meet  you.  An  expectation  fulfilled  is  better 
than  a  surprise.  Everything  at  Saracinesca  is  prepared 
for  your  reception.  Don  Angelo,  our  priest,  has  been 
warned  of  your  coming,  and  the  boy  who  serves  mass  has 
been  washed.  You  may  imagine  that  a  great  festivity  is 
expected.  Giovanni  has  turned  the  castle  inside  out,  and 
had  a  room  hung  entirely  with  tapestries  of  my  great- 
grandmother's  own  working.  He  says  that  since  the  place 
is  so  old,  its  antiquity  should  be  carried  into  the  smallest 
details." 

Corona  laughed  gaily — she  would  have  laughed  at  any 
thing  that  day — and  the  old  Prince's  tone  was  fresh  and 
sparkling  and  merry.  He  had  relieved  the  first  embar 
rassment  of  the  situation. 

"  There  have  been  preparations  at  Astrardente  for  your 
reception,  too,"  answered  the  Duchessa.  "  There  was  a 
diniculty  of  choice,  as  there  are  about  a  hundred  vacant 
rooms  in  the  house.  The  butler  proposed  to  give  you  a 
suite  of  sixteen  to  pass  the  night  in,  but  I  selected  an  airy 
little  nook  in  one  of  the  wings,  where  you  need  only  go 
through  ten  to  get  to  your  bedroom." 

"  There  is  nothing  like  space,"  said  the  Prince  j  "  it  en 
larges  the  ideas." 

"I  cannot  imagine  what  my  father  would  do  if  his 


322  SARACINESCA. 

ideas  were  extended,"  remarked  Giovanni.  "  Everything 
he  imagines  is  colossal  already.  He  talks  about  tun 
nelling  the  mountains  for  my  aqueduct,  as  though  it  were 
no  more  trouble  than  to  run  a  stick  through  a  piece  of 
paper." 

"  Your  aqueduct,  indeed !  "  exclaimed  his  father.  "  I 
would  like  to  know  whose  idea  it  was  ?  " 

"  I  hear  you  are  working  like  an  engineer  yourself,  Don 
Giovanni,"  said  Corona.  "  I  have  a  man  at  work  at  As- 
trardente  on  some  plans  of  roads.  Perhaps  some  day  you 
could  give  us  your  advice." 

Some  day!  How  sweet  the  words  sounded  to  Gio 
vanni  as  he  sat  opposite  the  woman  he  loved,  bowling 
along  through  the  rich  vine  lands  in  the  cool  of  the  sum 
mer  evening ! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

The  opportunity  which  Giovanni  sought  of  being  alone 
with  Corona  was  long  in  coming.  Sister  Gabrielle  retired 
immediately  after  dinner,  and  the  Duchessa  was  left  alone 
with  the  two  men.  Old  Saracinesca  would  gladly  have 
left  his  son  with  the  hostess,  but  the  thing  was  evidently 
impossible.  The  manners  of  the  time  would  not  allow  it, 
and  the  result  was  that  the  Prince  spent  the  evening  in 
making  conversation  for  two  rather  indifferent  listeners. 
He  tried  to  pick  a  friendly  quarrel  with  Giovanni,  but  the 
latter  was  too  absent-minded  even  to  be  annoyed;  he 
tried  to  excite  the  Duchessa's  interest,  but  she  only 
smiled  gently,  making  a  remark  from  time  to  time  which 
was  conspicuous  for  its  irrelevancy.  But  old  Saracinesca 
was  in  a  good  humour,  and  he  bore  up  bravely  until  ten 
o'clock,  when  Corona  gave  the  signal  for  retiring.  They 
were  to  start  very  early  in  the  morning,  she  said,  and  she 
must  have  rest. 

When  the  two  men  were  alone,  the  Prince  turned  upon 


SAEACINESCA.  323 

his  son  in  semi-comic  anger,  and  upbraided  him  with  his 
obstinate  dulness  during  the  evening.  Giovanni  only 
smiled  calmly,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  There  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said. 

But  on  the  following  morning,  soon  after  six  o'clock, 
Giovanni  had  the  supreme  satisfaction  of  installing  Corona 
beside  him  upon  the  driving-seat  of  his  cart,  while  his 
father  and  Sister  Gabrielle  sat  together  behind  him.  The 
sun  was  not  yet  above  the  hills,  and  the  mountain  air  was 
keen  and  fresh  ;  the  stamping  of  the  horses  sounded  crisp 
and  sharp,  and  their  bells  rang  merrily  as  they  shook  their 
sturdy  necks  and  pricked  their  short  ears  to  catch  Gio 
vanni's  voice. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  nothing,  Duchessa  ?  "  asked  Gio 
vanni,  gathering  the  reins  in  his  hand. 

"  Nothing,  thanks.  I  have  sent  our  things  on  mules — 
by  the  bridle-path."  She  smiled  involuntarily  as  she  re 
called  her  adventure,  and  half  turned  her  face  away. 

"Ah,  yes — the  bridle-path,"  repeated  Giovanni,  as  he 
nodded  to  the  groom  to  stand  clear  of  the  horses'  heads. 
In  a  moment  they  were  briskly  descending  the  winding 
road  through  the  town  of  Astrardente :  the  streets  were 
quiet  and  cool,  for  the  peasants  had  all  gone  to  their  oc 
cupations  two  hours  before,  and  the  children  were  not  yet 
turned  loose. 

"  I  never  hoped  to  have  the  honour  of  myself  driving 
you  to  Saracinesca,"  said  Giovanni.  "It  is  a  wild  place 
enough,  in  its  way.  You  will  be  able  to  fancy  yourself 
in  Switzerland." 

"  I  would  rather  be  in  Italy,"  answered  Corona.  "  I  do 
not  care  for  the  Alps.  Our  own  mountains  are  as  beau 
tiful,  and  are  not  infested  by  tourists." 

"  You  are  a  tourist  to-day,"  said  Giovanni.  "  And  it 
has  pleased  Heaven  to  make  me  your  guide." 

"  I  will  listen  to  your  explanations  of  the  sights  with 
interest." 

"  It  is  a  reversal  of  the  situation,  is  it  not  ?  When  we 
last  met,  it  was  you  who  guided  me,  and  I  humbly  fol- 


324  SARACINESCA. 

lowed  your  instructions.  I  did  precisely  as  you  told 
me." 

"  Had  I  doubted  that  you  would  do  as  I  asked,  I  would 
not  have  spoken,"  answered  Corona. 

"  There  was  one  thing  you  advised  me  to  do  which  I 
have  not  even  attempted." 

"What  was  that?" 

"  You  told  me  to  forget  you.  I  have  spent  six  months 
in  constantly  remembering  you,  and  in  looking  forward 
to  this  moment.  Was  I  wrong  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  Duchessa,  with  a  little  laugh. 
"  You  should  by  this  time  have  forgotten  my  existence. 
They  said  you  were  gone  to  the  North  Pole — why  did 
you  change  your  mind  ?  " 

"I  followed  my  load-star.  It  led  me  from  Home  to 
Saracinesca  by  the  way  of  Paris.  I  should  have  remained 
at  Saracinesca — but  you  also  changed  your  mind.  I  began 
to  think  you  never  would." 

"  How  long  do  you  think  of  staying  up  there  ?  "  asked 
Corona,  to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  Just  so  long  as  you  stay  at  Astrardente,"  he  answered. 
"  You  will  not  forbid  me  to  follow  you  to  Eome  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  prevent  you  if  you  choose  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  By  a  word,  as  you  did  before." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  speak  that  word  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  trust  not.  Why  should  you  cause  me  needless  pain 
and  suffering  ?  It  it  was  right  then,  it  is  not  right  now. 
Besides,  you  know  me  too  well  to  think  that  I  would  annoy 
you  or  thrust  myself  upon  you.  But  I  will  do  as  you  wish." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  quietly.  But  she  turned  her 
dark  face  toward  him,  and  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
very  gently,  almost  lovingly.  Where  was  the  use  of 
trying  to  conceal  what  would  not  be  hidden?  Every 
word  he  spoke  told  of  his  unchanged  love,  although  the 
phrases  were  short  and  simple.  Why  should  she  con 
ceal  what  she  felt  ?  She  knew  it  was  a  foregone  con 
clusion.  They  loved  each  other,  and  she  would  certainly 
marry  him  in  the  course  of  a  year.  The  long  pent  up 


SAKACINESCA.  325 

forces  of  her  nature  were  beginning  to  assert  themselves ; 
she  had  conquered  and  fought  down  her  natural  being  in 
the  effort  to  be  all  things  to  her  old  husband,  to  quench 
her  growing  interest  in  Giovanni,  to  resist  his  declared 
love,  to  drive  him  from  her  in  her  widowhood ;  but  now 
it  seemed  as  though  all  obstacles  were  suddenly  removed. 
She  saw  clearly  how  well  she  loved  him,  and  it  seemed 
folly  to  try  and  conceal  it.  As  she  sat  by  his  side  she 
was  unboundedly  happy,  as  she  had  never  been  in  her 
life  before :  the  cool  morning  breeze  fanned  her  cheeks, 
and  the  music  of  his  low  voice  soothed  her,  while  the 
delicious  sense  of  rapid  motion  lent  a  thrill  of  pleasure 
to  every  breath  she  drew.  It  was  no  matter  what  she 
said;  it  was  as  though  she  spoke  unconsciously.  All 
seemed  predestined  and  foreplanned  from  all  time,  to 
be  acted  out  to  the  end.  The  past  vanished  slowly  as  a 
retreating  landscape.  The  weary  traveller,  exhausted 
with  the  heat  of  the  scorching  Campagna,  slowly  climbs 
the  ascent  towards  Tivoli,  the  haven  of  cool  waters,  and 
pausing  now  and  then  upon  the  path,  looks  back  and 
sees  how  the  dreary  waste  of  undulating  hillocks  be 
neath  him  seems  gradually  to  subside  into  a  dim  flat 
plain,  while,  in  the  far  distance,  the  mighty  domes  and 
towers  of  Rome  dwindle  to  an  unreal  mirage  in  the 
warm  haze  of  the  western  sky ;  then  advancing  again, 
he  feels  the  breath  of  the  mountains  upon  him,  and  hears 
the  fresh  plunge  of  the  cold  cataract,  till  at  last,  when 
his  strength  is  almost  failing,  it  is  renewed  within  him, 
and  the  dust  and  the  heat  of  the  day's  journey  are  for 
gotten  in  the  fulness  of  refreshment.  So  Corona  d'As- 
trardente,  wearied  though  not  broken  by  the  fatigues 
and  the  troubles  and  the  temptations  of  the  past  five 
years,  seemed  suddenly  to  be  taken  up  and  borne  swiftly 
through  the  gardens  of  an  earthly  paradise,  where  there 
was  neither  care  nor  temptation,  and  where,  in  the  cool 
air  of  a  new  life,  the  one  voice  she  loved  was  ever  mur 
muring  gentle  things  to  her  willing  ear. 
As  the  road  began  to  ascend,  sweeping  round  the  base 


326  SAEAOINESCA. 

of  the  mountain  and  upwards  by  even  gradations  upon  its 
southern  flank,  the  sun  rose  higher  in  the  heavens,  and  the 
locusts  broke  into  their  summer  song  among  the  hedges 
with  that  even,  long-drawn,  humming  note,  so  sweet  to 
southern  ears.  But  Corona  did  not  feel  the  heat,  nor 
notice  the  dust  upon  the  way ;  she  was  in  a  new  state, 
wherein  such  things  could  not  trouble  her.  The  first 
embarrassment  of  a  renewed  intimacy  was  fast  disappear 
ing,  and  she  talked  easily  to  Giovanni  of  many  things, 
reviewing  past  scenes  and  speaking  of  mutual  acquaint 
ances,  turning  the  conversation  when  it  concerned  Gio 
vanni  or  herself  too  directly,  yet  ever  and  again  coming 
back  to  that  sweet  ground  which  was  no  longer  danger 
ous  now.  At  last,  at  a  turn  in  the  road,  the  grim  towers 
of  ancient  Saracinesca  loomed  in  the  distance,  and  the 
carriage  entered  a  vast  forest  of  chestnut  trees,  shady 
and  cool  after  the  sunny  ascent.  So  they  reached  the 
castle,  and  the  sturdy  horses  sprang  wildly  forward  up 
the  last  incline  till  their  hoofs  struck  noisily  upon  the 
flagstones  of  the  bridge,  and  with  a  rush  and  a  plunge 
they  dashed  under  the  black  archway,  and  halted  in  the 
broad  court  beyond. 

Corona  was  surprised  at  the  size  of  the  old  fortress. 
It  seemed  an  endless  irregular  mass  of  towers  and  build 
ings,  all  of  rough  grey  stone,  surrounded  by  battlements 
and  ramparts,  kept  in  perfect  repair,  but  destitute  of  any 
kind  of  ornament  whatever.  It  might  have  been  even 
now  a  military  stronghold,  and  it  was  evident  that  there 
were  traditions  of  precision  and  obedience  within  its 
walls  which  would  have  done  credit  to  any  barracks. 
The  dominant  temper  of  the  master  made  itself  felt  at 
every  turn,  and  the  servants  moved  quickly  and  silently 
about  their  duties.  There  was  something  intensely  at 
tractive  to  Corona  in  the  air  of  strength  that  pervaded 
the  place,  and  Giovanni  had  never  seemed  to  her  so 
manly  and  so  much  in  his  element  as  under  the  grey 
walls  of  his  ancestral  home.  The  place,  too,  was  associ 
ated  in  history  with  so  many  events, — the  two  men, 


SARACINESCA.  327 

Leone  and  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  stood  there  beside  her, 
where  their  ancestors  of  the  same  names  had  stood  nearly 
a  thousand  years  before,  their  strong  dark  faces  having 
the  same  characteristics  that  for  centuries  had  marked 
their  race,  features  familiar  to  Eomans  by  countless 
statues  and  pictures,  as  the  stones  of  Rome  themselves 
— but  for  a  detail  of  dress,  it  seemed  to  Corona  as  though 
she  had  been  suddenly  transported  back  to  the  thirteenth 
century.  The  idea  fascinated  her.  The  two  men  led  her 
up  the  broad  stone  staircase,  and  ushered  her  and  Sister 
Gabrielle  into  the  apartments  of  state  which  had  been 
prepared  for  them. 

"  We  have  done  our  best,"  said  the  Prince,  "  but  it  is 
long  since  we  have  entertained  ladies  at  Saracinesca." 

"  It  is  magnificent ! "  exclaimed  Corona,  as  she  entered 
the  ante-chamber.  The  walls  were  hung  from  end  to  end 
with  priceless  tapestries,  and  the  stone  floor  was  covered 
with  long  eastern  carpets.  Corona  paused. 

"You  must  show  us  all  over  the  castle  by-and-by,"  she 
said. 

"  Giovanni  will  show  you  everything,"  answered  the 
Prince.  "  If  it  pleases  you,  we  will  breakfast  in  half-an- 
hour."  He  turned  away  with  his  son,  and  left  the  two 
ladies  to  refresh  themselves  before  the  mid-day  meal. 

Giovanni  kept  his  word,  and  spared  his  guests  no 
detail  of  the  vast  stronghold,  until  at  last  poor  Sister 
Gabrielle  could  go  no  farther.  Giovanni  had  anticipated 
that  she  would  be  tired,  and  with  the  heartlessness  of  a 
lover  seeking  his  opportunity,  he  had  secretly  longed  for 
the  moment  when  she  should  be  obliged  to  stop. 

"You  have  not  yet  seen  the  view  from  the  great  tower/' 
he  said.  "It  is  superb,  and  this  is  the  very  best  hour  for 
it.  Are  you  tired,  Duchessa  ?  " 

"  No — I  am  never  tired,"  answered  Corona. 

"  Why  not  go  with  Giovanni  ?  "  suggested  the  Prince. 
"  I  will  stay  with  Sister  Gabrielle,  who  has  nearly  ex 
hausted  herself  with  seeing  our  sights." 

Corona  hesitated.     The  idea  of  being  alone  with  Gio- 


328  SAHACINESCA. 

vanni  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  was  delightful,  but  some 
how  it  did  not  seem  altogether  fitting  for  her  to  be 
wandering  over  the  castle  with  him.  On  the  other  hand, 
to  refuse  would  seem  almost  an  affectation :  she  was  not 
in  Borne,  where  her  every  movement  was  a  subject  for 
remark;  moreover,  she  was  not  only  a  married  woman, 
but  a  widow,  and  she  had  known  Giovanni  for  years — 
it  would  be  ridiculous  to  refuse. 

"Very  well,"  said  she.  " Let  us  see  the  view  before  it 
is  too  late." 

Sister  G-abrielle  and  old  Saracinesca  sat  down  on  a 
stone  seat  upon  the  rampart  to  wait,  and  the  Duchessa 
disappeared  with  Giovanni  through  the  low  door  that  led 
into  the  great  tower. 

"What  a  wonderful  woman  you  are ! "  exclaimed  Gio 
vanni,  as  they  reached  the  top  of  the  winding  stair,  which 
was  indeed  broader  than  the  staircase  of  many  great 
houses  in  Rome.  "You  seem  to  be  never  tired." 

"No — I  am  very  strong,"  answered  Corona,  with  a 
smile.  She  was  not  even  out  of  breath.  "What  a 
wonderful  view !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  they  emerged  upon 
the  stone  platform  at  the  top  of  the  tower.  Giovanni 
was  silent  for  a  moment.  The  two  stood  together  and 
looked  far  out  at  the  purple  mountains  to  eastward  that 
caught  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  high  up  above  the  shad 
ows  of  the  valley ;  and  then  looking  down,  they  saw  the 
Prince  and  the  Sister  a  hundred  feet  below  them  upon 
the  rampart. 

Both  were  thinking  of  the  same  thing :  three  days  ago, 
their  meeting  had  seemed  infinitely  far  off,  a  thing 
dreamed  of  and  hoped  for — and  now  they  were  standing 
alone  upon  the  topmost  turret  of  Giovanni's  house,  famil 
iar  with  each  other  by  a  long  day's  conversation,  feeling 
as  though  they  had  never  been  parted,  feeling  also  that 
most  certainly  they  would  not  be  parted  again. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Giovanni,  "  how  things  hap 
pen  in  this  world,  and  how  little  we  ever  know  of  what 
is  before  us.  Last  week  I  wondered  whether  I  should 


SAKACINESCA.  329 

ever  see  you— now  I  cannot  imagine  not  seeing  you.  Is 
it  not  strange  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Corona,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  That,  yesterday,  we  should  have  seemed  parted  by  an 

insurmountable  barrier,  and  that  to-day "  he  stopped. 

"  Oh,  if  to-day  could  only  last  for  ever  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
suddenly. 

Corona  gazed  out  upon  the  purple  hills  in  silence,  but 
her  face  caught  some  of  the  radiance  of  the  distant  glow, 
and  her  dark  eyes  had  strange  lights  in  them.  She  could 
not  have  prevented  him  from  speaking ;  she  had  loosed 
the  bonds  that  had  held  her  life  so  long ;  the  anchor  was 
up,  and  the  breath  of  love  fanned  the  sails,  and  gently 
bore  the  craft  in  which  she  trusted  out  to  seaward  over 
the  fair  water.  In  seeing  him  she  had  resigned  herself 
to  him,  and  she  could  not  again  get  the  mastery  if  she 
would.  It  had  come  too  soon,  but  it  was  sweet. 

"And  why  not  ?"  he  said,  very  softly.  "Why  should 
it  not  remain  so  for  ever — till  our  last  breath?  Why 
will  you  not  let  it  last  ?  " 

Still  she  was  silent ;  but  the  tears  gathered  slowly  in 
her  eyes,  and  welled  over  and  lay  upon  her  velvet  cheek 
like  dewdrops  on  the  leaves  of  a  soft  dark  tulip.  Gio 
vanni  saw  them,  and  knew  that  they  were  the  jewels 
which  crowned  his  life. 

"  You  will,"  he  said,  his  broad  brown  hand  gently  cov 
ering  her  small  fingers  and  taking  them  in  his.  "You 
will — I  know  that  you  will." 

She  said  nothing,  and  though  she  at  first  made  a  slight 
movement — not  of  resistance,  but  of  timid  reluctance, 
utterly  unlike  herself — she  suffered  him  to  hold  her 
hand.  He  drew  closer  to  her,  himself  more  diffident  in 
the  moment  of  success  than  he  had  ever  been  when  he 
anticipated  failure ;  she  was  so  unlike  any  woman  he  had 
ever  known  before.  Very  gently  he  put  his  arm  about 
her,  and  drew  her  to  him. 

"  My  beloved — at  last,"  he  whispered,  as  her  head  sank 
upon  his  shoulder. 


330  SAKACINESCA. 

Then  with  a  sudden  movement  she  sprang  to  her 
height,  and  for  one  instant  gazed  upon  him.  Her  whole 
being  was  transfigured  in  the  might  of  her  passion :  her 
dark  face  was  luminously  pale,  her  lips  almost  white, 
and  from  her  eyes  there  seemed  to  flash  a  blazing  fire. 
For  one  instant  she  gazed  upon  him,  and  then  her  arms 
went  round  his  neck,  and  she  clasped  him  fiercely  to  her 
breast. 

"  Ah,  Giovanni,"  she  cried,  passionately,  "  you  do  not 
know  what  love  means  ! " 

A  moment  later  her  arms  dropped  from  him ;  she 
turned  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  leaning  against 
the  high  stone  parapet  of  the  tower.  She  was  not  weep 
ing,  but  her  face  was  white,  and  her  bosom  heaved  with 
quick  and  strong-drawn  breath. 

Giovanni  went  to  her  side  and  took  her  strongly  in  his 
right  arm,  and  again  her  head  rested  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  It  is  too  soon — too  soon,"  she  murmured.  "  But  how 
can  I  help  it  ?  I  love  you  so  that  there  is  no  counting  of 
time.  It  seems  years  since  we  met  last  night,  and  I 
thought  it  would  be  years  before  I  told  you.  Oh,  Gio 
vanni,  I  am  so  happy  !  Is  it  possible  that  you  love  me 
as  I  love  you  ?  " 

It  is  a  marvellous  thing  to  see  how  soon  two  people  who 
love  each  other  learn  the  gentle  confidence  that  only  love 
can  bring.  A  few  moments  later  Giovanni  and  Corona 
were  slowly  pacing  the  platform,  and  his  arm  was  about 
her  waist  and  her  hand  in  his. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  was  saying,  "I  used  to  wonder 
whether  you  would  keep  your  word,  and  never  try  to  see 
me.  The  days  were  so  long  at  Astrardente." 

"  Not  half  so  long  as  at  Saracinesca,"  he  answered.  "  I 
was  going  to  call  my  aqueduct  the  Bridge  of  Sighs ;  I  will 
christen  it  now  the  Spring  of  Love." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  it  to-morrow,"  said  she. 

"  Or  the  next  day " 

"  The  next  day ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  happy  laugh. 
"Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  stay " 


SAKACINESCA.  331 

"  For  ever,"  interrupted  Giovanni.  "We  have  a  priest 
here,  you  know, — he  can  marry  us  to-morrow,  and  then 
you  need  never  go  away." 

Corona's  face  grew  grave. 

"  We  must  not  talk  of  that  yet,"  she  said,  gently,  "  even 
in  jest." 

"  No ;  you  are  right.  Forgive  me,"  he  answered ;  "  I 
forget  many  things — it  seems  to  me  I  have  forgotten 
everything,  except  that  I  love  you." 

"  Giovanni," — she  lingered  on  the  name, — "  Giovanni, 
we  must  tell  your  father  at  once." 

"  Are  you  willing  I  should  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Of  course — he  ought  to  know ;  and  Sister  Gabrielle 
too.  But  no  one  else  must  be  told.  There  must  be  no 
talk  of  this  in  Rome  until — until  next  year." 

"We  will  stay  in  the  country  until  then,  shall  we 
not?"  asked  Giovanni,  anxiously.  "It  seems  to  me  so 
much  better.  We  can  meet  here,  and  nobody  will  talk. 
I  will  go  and  live  in  the  town  at  Astrardente,  and  play 
the  engineer,  and  build  your  roads  for  you." 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  Corona,  with  a  doubtful  smile. 
"  You  could  not  do  that.  But  you  may  come  and  spend 
the  day  once — in  a  week,  perhaps." 

"  We  will  arrange  all  that,"  answered  Giovanni,  laugh 
ing.  "  If  you  think  I  can  exist  by  only  seeing  you  once 
a  week — well,  you  do  not  know  me." 

"We  shall  see,"  returned  Corona,  laughing  too.  "By 
the  bye,  how  long  have  we  been  here  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Giovanni;  "but  the  view  is 
magnificent,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Enchanting,"  she  replied,  looking  into  his  eyes. 
Then  suddenly  the  blood  mounted  to  her  cheeks.  "  Oh, 
Giovanni,"  she  said,  "  how  could  I  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  have  died  if  you  had  not,"  he  answered,  and 
clasped  her  once  more  in  his  arms. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  let  us  be  going  down.  It  is  grow 
ing  late." 

When  they  reached  the  foot  of  the  tower,  they  found 


332  SARACESTESCA. 

the  Prince  walking  the  rampart  alone.  Sister  Gabrielle 
was  afraid  of  the  evening  air,  and  had  retired  into  the 
house.  Old  Saracinesca  faced  them  suddenly.  He  looked 
like  an  old  lion,  his  thick  white  hair  and  beard  bristling 
about  his  dark  features. 

"My  father,"  said  Giovanni,  coming  forward,  "the 
Duchessa  d'Astrardente  has  consented  to  be  my  wife.  I 
crave  your  blessing." 

The  old  man  started,  and  then  stood  stock-still.  His 
son  had  fairly  taken  his  breath  away,  for  he  had  not  ex 
pected  the  news  for  three  or  four  months  to  come.  Then 
he  advanced  and  took  Corona's  hand,  and  kissed  it. 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  you  have  done  my  son  an  honour 
which  extends  to  myself  and  to  every  Saracinesca,  dead, 
living,  and  to  come." 

Then  he  laid  Corona's  hand  in  Giovanni's,  and  held 
his  own  upon  them  both. 

"God  bless  you,"  he  said,  solemnly;  and  as  Corona 
bent  her  proud  head,  he  touched  her  forehead  with  his 
lips.  Then  he  embraced  Giovanni,  and  his  joy  broke  out 
in  wild  enthusiasm. 

"Ha,  my  children,"  he  cried,  "there  has  not  been  such 
a  couple  as  you  are  for  generations — there  has  not  been 
such  good  news  told  in  these  old  walls  since  they  have 
stood  here.  We  will  illuminate  the  castle,  the  whole 
town,  in  your  honour — we  will  ring  the  bells  and  have  a 
Te  Deum  sung — we  will  have  such  a  festival  as  was  never 
seen  before — we  will  go  to  Kome  to-morrow  and  celebrate 
the  espousal — we  will " 

"  Softly,  padre  mio"  interrupted  Giovanni.  "  No  one 
must  know  as  yet.  You  must  consider " 

"  Consider  what  ?  consider  the  marriage  ?  Of  course  we 
will  consider  it,  as  soon  as  you  please.  You  shall  have 
such  a  wedding  as  was  never  heard  of — you  shall  be  mar 
ried  by  the  Cardinal  Archpriest  of  Saint  Peter's,  by  the 
Holy  Father  himself.  The  whole  country  shall  ring  with 
it." 

It  was  with  difficulty  Giovanni  succeeded  in  calming  his 


SABACINESCA. 

father's  excitement,  and  in  recalling  to  his  mind  the  cir 
cumstances  which  made  it  necessary  to  conceal  the  engage 
ment  for  the  present.  But  at  last  the  old  man  reluctantly 
consented,  and  returned  to  a  quieter  humour.  For  some 
time  the  three  continued  to  pace  the  stone  rampart. 

"  This  is  a  case  of  arrant  cruelty  to  a  man  of  my  tem 
per,"  said  the  Prince.  "To  be  expected  to  behave  like  an 
ordinary  creature,  with  grins  and  smiles  and  decent  paces, 
when  I  have  just  heard  what  I  have  longed  to  hear  for 
years.  But  I  will  revenge  myself  by  making  a  noise  about 
it  by-and-by.  I  will  concoct  schemes  for  your  wedding, 
and  dream  of  nothing  but  illuminations  and  decorations. 
You  shall  be  Prince  of  Sant'  Ilario,  Giovanni,  as  I  was 
before  my  father  died ;  and  I  will  give  you  that  estate 
outright,  and  the  palace  in  the  Corso  to  live  in." 

"  Perhaps  we  might  live  in  my  palace,"  suggested  Co 
rona.  It  seemed  strange  to  her  to  be  discussing  her  own 
marriage,  but  it  was  necessary  to  humour  the  old  Prince. 

"Of  course,"  he  said.  "I  forgot  all  about  it.  You 
have  places  enough  to  live  in.  One  forgets  that  you  will 
in  the  end  be  the  richest  couple  in  Italy.  Ha  !  "  he  cried, 
in  sudden  enthusiasm,  "  the  Saracinesca  are  not  dead  yet ! 
They  are  greater  than  ever — and  our  lands  here  so  near 
together,  too.  We  will  build  a  new  road  to  Astrardente, 
and  when  you  are  married  you  shall  be  the  first  to  drive 
over  it  from  Astrardente  here.  We  will  do  all  kinds  of 
things — we  will  tunnel  the  mountain  ! " 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  do  that  in  the  end,"  said  Giovanni, 
laughing. 

"  Well — let  us  go  to  dinner,"  answered  his  father.  "  It 
has  grown  quite  dark  since  we  have  been  talking,  and  we 
shall  be  falling  over  the  edge  if  we  are  not  careful." 

"I  will  go  and  tell  Sister  Gabrielle  before  dinner,"  said 
Corona  to  Giovanni. 

So  they  left  her  at  the  door  of  her  apartment,  and  she 
went  in.  She  found  the  Sister  in  an  inner  room,  with  a 
book  of  devotions  in  her  hand. 

"  Pray  for  me.  my  Sister."  she  said,  quietly.     "  I  have 
Yol.  10—15 


334  SARACINBSCA. 

resolved  upon  a  great  step.  I  am  going  to  be  married 
again.77 

Sister  G-abrielle  looked  up,  and  a  quiet  smile  stole  over 
her  thin  face. 

"  It  is  soon,  my  friend,"  she  said.  "  It  is  soon  to  think 
of  that.  But  perhaps  you  are  right — is  it  the  young 
Prince  ?  " 

"  Yes/7  answered  Corona,  and  sank  into  a  deep  tapestried 
chair.  "  It  is  soon  I  know  well.  But  it  has  been  long — 
I  have  struggled  hard — I  love  him  very  much — so  much, 
you  do  not  know  ! 77 

The  Sister  sighed  faintly,  and  came  and  took  her 
hand. 

"  It  is  right  that  you  should  marry,77  she  said,  gently. 
"  You  are  too  young,  too  famously  beautiful,  too  richly 
endowed,  to  lead  the  life  you  have  led  at  Astrardente 
these  many  months.77 

"  It  is  not  that,77  said  Corona,  an  expression  of  strange 
beauty  illuminating  her  lovely  face.  "Not  that  I  am 
young,  beautiful  as  you  say,  if  it  is  so,  or  endowed  with 
riches — those  reasons  are  nothing.  It  is  this  that  tells 
me,'7  she  whispered,  pressing  her  left  hand  to  her  heart. 
"  When  one  loves  as  I  love,  it  is  right.77 

"Indeed  it  is,77  assented  the  good  Sister.  "And  I 
think  you  have  chosen  wisely.  When  will  you  be 
married?77 

"  Hardly  before  next  summer — I  can  hardly  think  con 
nectedly  yet — it  has  been  very  sudden.  I  knew  I  should 
marry  him  in  the  end,  but  I  never  thought  I  could  con 
sent  so  soon.  Oh,  Sister  Gabrielle,  you  are  so  good — 
were  you  never  in  love  ? 77 

The  Sister  was  silent,  and  looked  away. 

"  Ko — of  course  you  cannot  tell  me,77  continued  Corona; 
"but  it  is  such  a  wonderful  thing.  It  makes  days  seem 
like  hundreds  of  years,  or  makes  them  pass  in  a  flash  of 
light,  in  a  second.  It  oversets  every  idea  of  time,  and 
plays  with  one7s  resolutions  as  the  wind  with  a  feather. 
If  once  it  gets  the  mastery  of  one,  it  crowds  a  lifetime  of 


SARACINESCA.  335 

pain  and  pleasure  into  one  day ;  it  never  leaves  one  for  a 
moment.  I  cannot  explain  love — it  is  a  wonderful  thing." 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  the  Sister,  "the  explanation 
of  love  is  life." 

"  But  the  end  of  it  is  not  death.  It  cannot  be,"  con 
tinued  Corona,  earnestly.  "  It  must  last  for  ever  and  ever. 
It  must  grow  better  and  purer  and  stronger,  until  it  is 
perfect  in  heaven  at  last :  but  where  is  the  use  of  trying 
to  express  such  things  ?  " 

"I  think  it  is  enough  to  feel  them,"  said  Sister 
Gabrielle. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

The  summer  season  ripened  into  autumn,  and  autumn 
again  turned  to  winter,  and  Eome  was  once  more  full.  The 
talk  of  society  turned  frequently  upon  the  probability  of 
the  match  between  the  Duchessa  d'Astrardente  and  Gio 
vanni  Saracinesca ;  and  when  at  last,  three  weeks  before 
Lent,  the  engagement  was  made  known,  there  was  a  gen 
eral  murmur  of  approbation.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
momentous  question  of  Corona's  life,  which  had  for  years 
agitated  the  gossips,  were  at  last  to  be  settled  :  every  one 
had  been  accustomed  to  regard  her  marriage  with  old 
Astrardente  as  a  temporary  affair,  seeing  that  he  certainly 
could  not  live  long,  and  speculation  in  regard  to  her 
future  had  been  nearly  as  common  during  his  lifetime  as 
it  was  after  his  death.  One  of  the  duties  most  congenial 
to  society,  and  one  which  it  never  fails  to  perform  con 
scientiously,  is  that  judicial  astrology,  whereby  it  fore 
casts  the  issue  of  its  neighbour's  doings.  Everybody's 
social  horoscope  must  be  cast  by  the  circle  of  five-o'clock- 
tea-drinking  astro-sociologists,  and,  generally  speaking, 
.their  predictions  are  not  far  short  of  the  truth,  for 
society  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  is  uncommonly 
quick  in  the  diagnosis  of  its  own  state  of  health. 


336  SARACINESCA. 

When  it  was  announced  that  Corona  was  to  marry 
Giovanni  after  Easter,  society  looked  and  saw  that  the 
arrangement  was  good.  There  was  not  one  dissenting 
voice  heard  in  the  universal  applause.  Corona  had  be 
haved  with  exemplary  decency  during  the  year  of  her 
mourning — had  lived  a  life  of  religious  retirement  upon 
her  estates  in  the  sole  company  of  a  Sister  of  Charity,  had 
given  no  cause  for  scandal  in  any  way.  Everybody  aspired 
to  like  her — that  is  to  say,  to  be  noticed  by  her ;  but  with 
one  exception,  she  had  caused  no  jealousy  nor  ill-feeling 
by  her  indifference,  for  no  one  had  ever  heard  her  say  an 
unkind  word  concerning  anybody  she  knew.  Donna  Tullia 
had  her  own  reasons  for  hating  Corona,  and  perhaps  the 
world  suspected  them;  but  people  did  not  connect  the 
noisy  Donna  Tullia,  full  of  animal  spirits  and  gay  silly 
talk,  with  the  idea  of  serious  hatred,  much  less  with  the 
execution  of  any  scheme  of  revenge. 

Indeed  Madame  Mayer  had  not  spent  the  summer  and 
autumn  in  nursing  her  wrath  against  Corona.  She  had 
travelled  with  the  old  Countess,  her  companion,  and  several 
times  Ugo  del  Ferice  had  appeared  suddenly  at  the  water 
ing-places  which  she  had  selected  for  her  temporary  resi 
dence.  From  time  to  time  he  gave  her  news  of  mutual 
friends,  which  she  repaid  conscientiously  with  interesting 
accounts  of  the  latest  scandals.  They  were  a  congenial 
pair,  and  Ugo  felt  that  by  his  constant  attention  to  her 
wishes,  and  by  her  never- varying  willingness  to  accept  his 
service,  he  had  obtained  a  hold  upon  her  intimacy  which, 
in  the  ensuing  winter,  would  give  him  a  decided  advantage 
over  all  competitors  in  the  field.  She  believed  that  she 
might  have  married  half-a-dozen  times,  and  that  with  her 
fortune  she  could  easily  have  made  a  very  brilliant  match ; 
she  even  thought  that  she  could  have  married  Valdarno, 
who  was  very  good-natured :  but  her  attachment  to  Gio 
vanni,  and  the  expectations  she  had  so  long  entertained  in 
regard  to  him,  had  prevented  her  from  showing  any  marked 
preference  for  others  ;  and  while  she  was  hesitating,  Del 
Ferice,  by  his  superior  skill,  had  succeeded  in  making  him- 


SAEACIKESCA.  337 

self  indispensable  to  her — a  success  the  more  remarkable 
that,  in  spite  of  his  gifts  and  the  curious  popularity  he 
enjoyed,  he  was  by  far  the  least  desirable  man  of  her 
acquaintance  from  the  matrimonial  point  of  view. 

But  when  Donna  Tullia  again  met  Giovanni  in  the 
world,  the  remembrance  of  her  wrongs  revived  her  anger 
against  him,  and  the  news  of  his  engagement  to  the  As- 
trardente  brought  matters  to  a  climax.  In  the  excite 
ment  of  the  moment,  both  her  jealousy  and  her  anger 
were  illuminated  by  the  light  of  a  righteous  wrath.  She 
knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  that  Don  Giovanni  was  al 
ready  married.  She  had  no  proof  that  the  peasant  wife 
mentioned  in  the  certificate  was  alive,  but  there  was 
nothing  either  to  show  that  she  was  dead.  Even  in  the 
latter  case  it  was  a  scandalous  thing  that  he  should  marry 
again  without  informing  Corona  of  the  circumstances  of 
his  past  life,  and  Donna  Tullia  felt  an  inner  conviction 
that  he  had  told  the  Duchessa  nothing  of  the  matter. 
The  latter  was  such  a  proud  woman,  that  she  would  be 
horrified  at  the  idea  of  uniting  herself  to  a  man  who  had 
been  the  husband  of  a  peasant. 

Madame  Mayer  remembered  her  solemn  promise  to  Del 
Ferice,  and  feared  to  act  without  his  consent.  An  hour 
after  she  had  heard  the  news  of  the  engagement,  she  sent 
for  him  to  come  to  her  immediately.  To  her  astonish 
ment  and  dismay,  her  servant  brought  back  word  that  he 
had  suddenly  gone  to  Naples  upon  urgent  business.  This 
news  made  her  pause  ;  but  while  the  messenger  had  been 
gone  to  Del  Ferice's  house,  Donna  Tullia  had  been  antic 
ipating  and  going  over  in  her  mind  the  scene  which  would 
ensue  when  she  told  Corona  the  secret.  Donna  Tullia 
was  a  very  sanguine  woman,  and  the  idea  of  at  last  being 
revenged  for  all  the  slights  she  had  received  worked  sud 
denly  upon  her  brain,  so  that  as  she  paced  her  drawing- 
room  in  expectation  of  the  arrival  of  Del  Fence,  she  en 
tirely  acted  out  in  her  imagination  the  circumstances  of 
the  approaching  crisis,  the  blood  beat  hotly  in  her  tem 
ples,  and  she  lost  all  sense  of  prudence  in  the  delicious 


338  SARACINESCA. 

anticipation  of  violent  words.  Del  Ferice  had  cruelly 
calculated  upon  her  temperament,  and  he  had  hoped  that 
in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  she  would  lose  her  head, 
and  irrevocably  commit  herself  to  him  by  the  betrayal  of 
the  secret.  This  was  precisely  what  occurred.  On  being 
told  that  he  was  out  of  town,  she  could  no  longer  contain 
herself,  and  with  a  sudden  determination  to  risk  anything 
blindly,  rather  than  to  forego  the  pleasure  and  the  excite 
ment  she  had  been  meditating,  she  ordered  her  carriage 
and  drove  to  the  Palazzo  Astrardente. 

Corona  was  surprised  at  the  unexpected  visit.  She 
was  herself  on  the  point  of  going  out,  and  was  standing 
in  her  boudoir,  drawing  on  her  black  gloves  before  the 
fire,  while  her  furs  lay  upon  a  chair  at  her  side.  She 
wondered  why  Donna  Tullia  called,  and  it  was  in  part 
her  curiosity  which  induced  her  to  receive  her  visit. 
Donna  Tullia,  armed  to  the  teeth  with  the  terrible  news 
she  was  about  to  disclose,  entered  the  room  quickly,  and 
remained  standing  before  the  Duchessa  with  a  semi-tragic 
air  that  astonished  Corona. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Donna  Tullia  ?  "  said  the  latter,  put 
ting  out  her  hand. 

"  I  have  come  to  speak  to  you  upon  a  very  serious  mat 
ter,"  answered  her  visitor,  without  noticing  the  greeting. 

Corona  stared  at  her  for  a  moment,  but  not  being 
easily  disconcerted,  she  quietly  motioned  to  Donna 
Tullia  to  sit  down,  and  installed  herself  in  a  chair  oppo 
site  to  her. 

"  I  have  just  heard  the  news  that  you  are  to  marry  Don 
Giovanni  Saracinesca,"  said  Madame  Mayer.  "  You  will 
pardon  me  the  interest  I  take  in  you ;  but  is  it  true  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  answered  Corona. 

"  It  is  in  connection  with  your  marriage  that  I  wish 
to  speak,  Duchessa.  I  implore  you  to  reconsider  your 
decision." 

"  And  why,  if  you  please  ?  "  asked  Corona,  raising  her 
black  eyebrows,  and  fixing  her  haughty  gaze  upon  her 
visitor. 


SARACINESCA.  339 

"I  could  tell  you — I  would  rather  not,"  answered 
Donna  Tullia,  unabashed,  for  her  blood  was  up.  "I 
could  tell  you — but  I  beseech  you  not  to  ask  me.  Only 
consider  the  matter  again,  I  beg  you.  It  is  very  serious. 
Nothing  but  the  great  interest  I  feel  in  you,  and  my  con 
viction " 

"  Donna  Tullia,  your  conduct  is  so  extraordinary,"  in 
terrupted  Corona,  looking  at  her  curiously,  "  that  I  am 
tempted  to  believe  you  are  mad.  I  must  beg  you  to  ex 
plain  what  you  mean  by  your  words." 

"Ah,  no,"  answered  Madame  Mayer.  "You  do  me 
injustice.  I  am  not  mad,  but  I  would  save  you  from  the 
most  horrible  danger." 

"  Again  I  say,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  will  not  be  trifled 
with  in  this  way,"  said  the  Duchessa,  who  would  have 
been  more  angry  if  she  had  been  less  astonished,  but 
whose  temper  was  rapidly  rising. 

"  I  am  not  trifling  with  you,"  returned  Donna  Tullia. 
"  I  am  imploring  you  to  think  before  you  act,  before  you 
marry  Don  Giovanni.  You  cannot  think  that  I  would 
venture  to  intrude  upon  you  without  the  strongest  rea 
sons.  I  am  in  earnest." 

"  Then,  in  heaven's  name,  speak  out ! "  cried  Corona, 
losing  all  patience.  "  I  presume  that  if  this  is  a  warn 
ing,  you  have  some  grounds,  you  have  some  accusation 
to  make  against  Don  Giovanni.  Have  the  goodness  to 
state  what  you  have  to  say,  and  be  brief." 

"  I  will,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  and  she  paused  a  moment, 
her  face  growing  red  with  excitement,  and  her  blue  eyes 
sparkling  disagreeably.  "You  cannot  marry  Don  Gio 
vanni,"  she  said  at  length,  "because  there  is  an  insur 
mountable  impediment  in  the  way." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Corona,  controlling  her  anger. 

"  He  is  already  married !  "  hissed  Donna  Tullia. 

Corona  turned  a  little  pale,  and  started  back.  But  in 
an  instant  her  colour  returned,  and  she  broke  into  a  low 
laugh. 

"  You  are  certainly  insane,"  she  said,  eyeing  Madame 


340  SAKACINESCA. 

Mayer  suspiciously.  It  was  not  an  easy  matter  to  shake 
her  faith  in  the  man  she  loved.  Donna  Tullia  was  disap 
pointed  at  the  effect  she  had  produced.  She  was  a  clever 
woman  in  her  way,  but  she  did  not  understand  how  to 
make  the  best  of  the  situation.  She  saw  that  she  was 
simply  an  object  of  curiosity,  and  that  Corona  seriously 
believed  her  mind  deranged.  She  was  frightened,  and, 
in  order  to  help  herself,  she  plunged  deeper. 

"You  may  call  me  mad,  if  you  please,"  she  replied, 
angrily.  "  I  tell  you  it  is  true.  Don  Giovanni  was  mar 
ried  on  the  19th  of  June  1863,  at  Aquila,  in  the  Abruzzi, 
to  a  woman  called  Felice  Baldi — whoever  she  may  have 
been.  The  register  is  extant,  and  the  duplicate  of  the 
marriage  certificate.  I  have  seen  the  copies  attested  by 
a  notary.  I  tell  you  it  is  true,"  she  continued,  her  voice 
rising  to  a  harsh  treble ;  "you  are  engaged  to  marry  a  man 
who  has  a  wife — a  peasant  woman — somewhere  in  the 
mountains." 

Corona  rose  from  her  seat  and  put  out  her  hand  to  ring 
the  bell.  She  was  pale,  but  not  excited.  She  believed 
Donna  Tullia  to  be  insane,  perhaps  dangerous,  and  she 
calmly  proceeded  to  protect  herself  by  calling  for  assist 
ance. 

"  Either  you  are  mad,  or  you  mean  what  you  say,"  she 
said,  keeping  her  eyes  upon  the  angry  woman  before  her. 
"  You  will  not  leave  this  house  except  in  charge  of  my 
physician,  if  you  are  mad ;  and  if  you  mean  what  you  say, 
you  shall  not  go  until  you  have  repeated  your  words  to 
Don  Giovanni  Saracinesca  himself, — no,  do  not  start  or 
try  to  escape — it  is  of  no  use.  I  am  very  sudden  and 
violent — beware  ! " 

Donna  Tullia  bit  her  red  lip.  She  was  beginning  to 
realise  that  she  had  got  herself  into  trouble,  and  that  it 
might  be  hard  to  get  out  of  it.  But  she  felt  herself 
strong,  and  she  wished  she  had  with  her  those  proofs 
which  would  make  her  case  good.  She  was  so  sanguine 
by  nature  that  she  was  willing  to  carry  the  fight  to  the 
end,  and  to  take  her  chance  for  the  result. 


SARACINESCA.  341 

"  You  may  send  for  Don  Giovanni  if  you  please,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  spoken  the  truth — if  he  denies  it  I  can 
prove  it.  If  I  were  you  I  would  spare  him  the  humilia 
tion " 

A  servant  entered  the  room  in  answer  to  the  bell,  and 
Corona  interrupted  Donna  Tullia's  speech  by  giving  the 
man  her  orders. 

"  Go  at  once  to  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca,  and  beg  Don 
Giovanni  to  come  here  instantly  with  his  father  the  Prince. 
Take  the  carriage — it  is  waiting  below." 

The  man  disappeared,  and  Corona  quietly  resumed  her 
seat.  Donna  Tullia  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  at 
tempting  to  control  her  anger  in  an  assumption  of  dignity ; 
but  soon  she  broke  out  afresh,  being  rendered  very  nervous 
and  uncomfortable  by  the  Duchessa's  calm  manner  and 
apparent  indifference  to  consequences. 

"  I  cannot  see  why  you  should  expose  yourself  to  such 
a  scene,"  said  Madame  Mayer  presently.  "I  honestly 
wished  to  save  you  from  a  terrible  danger.  It  seems  to 
me  it  would  be  quite  sufficient  if  I  proved  the  fact  to  you 
beyond  dispute.  I  should  think  that  instead  of  being 
angry,  you  would  show  some  gratitude." 

"  I  am  not  angry,"  answered  Corona,  quietly.  "  I  am 
merely  giving  you  an  immediate  opportunity  of  proving 
your  assertion  and  your  sanity." 

"  My  sanity  !  "  exclaimed  Donna  Tullia,  angrily.  "  Do 
you  seriously  believe " 

"Nothing  that  you  say,"  said  Corona,  completing  the 
sentence. 

Unable  to  bear  the  situation,  Madame  Mayer  rose  sud 
denly  from  her  seat,  and  began  to  pace  the  small  room 
with  short,  angry  steps. 

"  You  shall  see,"  she  said,  fiercely — "  you  shall  see  that 
it  is  all  true.  You  shall  see  this  man's  face  when  I  accuse 
him — you  shall  see  him  humiliated,  overthrown,  exposed 
in  his  villany — the  wretch  !  You  shall  see  how " 

Corona's  strong  voice  interrupted  her  enemy's  invective 
in  ringing  tones. 


342  SABACINESCA. 

"Be  silent !"  she  cried.  "In  twenty  minutes  he  will 
be  here.  But  if  you  say  one  word  against  him  before  he 
comes,  I  will  lock  you  into  this  room  and  leave  you.  I 
certainly  will  not  hear  you." 

Donna  Tullia  reflected  that  the  Duchessa  was  in  her 
own  house,  and  moreover  that  she  was  not  a  woman  to  be 
trifled  with.  She  threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  taking 
up  a  book  that  lay  upon  the  table,  she  pretended  to  read. 

Corona  remained  seated  by  the  fireplace,  glancing  at 
her  from  time  to  time.  She  was  strangely  inclined  to 
laugh  at  the  whole  situation,  which  seemed  to  her  absurd 
in  the  extreme — for  it  never  crossed  her  mind  to  believe 
that  there  was  a  word  of  truth  in  the  accusation  against 
Giovanni.  Nevertheless  she  was  puzzled  to  account  for 
Donna  Tullia's  assurance,  and  especially  for  her  readiness 
to  face  the  man  she  so  calumniated.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
elapsed  in  this  armed  silence — the  two  women  glancing 
at  each  other  from  time  to  time,  until  the  distant  sound 
of  wheels  rolling  under  the  great  gate  announced  that 
the  messenger  had  returned  from  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca, 
probably  conveying  Don  Giovanni  and  his  father. 

"  Then  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  the  humiliation 
of  the  man  you  love  ?  "  asked  Donna  Tullia,  looking  up 
from  her  book  with  a  sneer  on  her  face. 

Corona  vouchsafed  no  answer,  but  her  eyes  turned  to 
wards  the  door  in  expectation.  Presently  there  were 
steps  heard  without.  The  servant  entered,  and  an 
nounced  Prince  Saracinesca  and  Don  Giovanni.  Corona 
rose.  The  old  man  came  in  first,  followed  by  his  son. 

"  An  unexpected  pleasure,"  he  said,  gaily.  "  Such  good 
luck !  We  were  both  at  home.  Ah,  Donna  Tullia,"  he 
cried,  seeing  Madame  Mayer,  "  how  are  you  ?  "  Then 
seeing  her  face,  he  added,  suddenly,  "Is  anything  the 
matter  ?  " 

Meanwhile  Giovanni  had  entered,  and  stood  by  Corona's 
side  near  the  fireplace.  He  saw  at  once  that  something 
was  wrong,  and  he  looked  anxiously  from  the  Duchessa  to 
Donna  Tullia.  Corona  spoke  at  once. 


SARACIKESCA.  343 

"  Donna  Tullia,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  I  have  the  honour 
to  offer  you  an  opportunity  of  explaining  yourself." 

Madame  Mayer  remained  seated  by  the  table,  her  face 
red  with  anger.  She  leaned  back  in  her  seat,  and  half 
closing  her  eyes  with  a  disagreeable  look  of  contempt,  she 
addressed  Giovanni. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  cause  you  such  profound  humiliation," 
she  began,  "  but  in  the  interest  of  the  Duchessa  d' Astrar- 
dente  I  feel  bound  to  speak.  Don  Giovanni,  do  you  re 
member  Aquila  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  he  replied,  coolly — "I  have  often  been 
there.  What  of  it  ?  " 

Old  Saracinesca  stared  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  What  is  this  comedy  ?  "  he  asked  of  Corona.  But  she 
nodded  to  him  to  be  silent. 

"Then  you  doubtless  remember  Felice  Baldi — poor 
Felice  Baldi,"  continued  Donna  Tullia,  still  gazing  scorn 
fully  up  at  Giovanni  from  where  she  sat. 

"I  never  heard  the  name,  that  I  can  remember," 
answered  Giovanni,  as  though  trying  to  recall  some 
memory  of  the  past.  He  could  not  imagine  what  she 
was  leading  to,  but  he  was  willing  to  answer  her  ques 
tions. 

"  You  do  not  remember  that  you  were  married  to  her 
at  Aquila  on  the  19th  of  June ?  " 

"  I — married  ?  "  cried  Giovanni,  in  blank  astonishment. 

"  Signora  Duchessa,"  said  the  Prince,  bending  his  heavy 
brows,  "  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  meaning  of  it,"  said  Donna  Tullia, 
in  low  hissing  tones,  and  rising  suddenly  to  her  feet  she 
assumed  a  somewhat  theatrical  attitude  as  she  pointed  to 
Giovanni.  "  I  will  tell  what  it  means.  It  means  that 
Don  Giovanni  Saracinesca  was  married  in  the  church  of 
San  Bernardino,  at  Aquila,  on  the  19th  of  June  1863,  to 
the  woman  Felice  Baldi — who  is  his  lawful  wife  to-day, 
and  for  aught  we  know  the  mother  of  his  children,  while 
he  is  here  in  Kome  attempting  to  marry  the  Duchessa 
d'Astrardente — can  he  deny  it  ?  Can  he  deny  that  his 


344  SABACINESCA. 

own  signature  is  there,  there  in  the  office  of  the  Stato 
Civile  at  Aquila,  to  testify  against  him  ?  Can  he ?  " 

""  Silence  ! "  roared  the  Prince.  "  Silence,  woman,  or  by 
God  in  heaven  I  will  stop  your  talking  for  ever ! "  He 
made  a  step  towards  her,  and  there  was  a  murderous  red 
light  in  his  black  eyes.  But  Giovanni  sprang  forward  and 
seized  his  father  by  the  wrist. 

"You  cannot  silence  me,"  screamed  Donna  Tullia.  "I 
will  be  heard,  and  by  all  Koine.  I  will  cry  it  upon  the 
housetops  to  all  the  world " 

"Then  you  will  precipitate  your  confinement  in  the 
asylum  of  Santo  Spirito,"  said  Giovanni,  in  cold,  calm 
tones.  "You  are  clearly  mad." 

"  So  I  said,"  assented  Corona,  who  was  nevertheless 
pale,  and  trembling  with  excitement. 

"  Allow  me  to  speak  with  her,"  said  Giovanni,  who,  like 
most  dangerous  men,  seemed  to  grow  cold  as  others  grew 
hot.  Donna  Tullia  leaned  upon  the  table,  breathing  hard 
between  her  closed  teeth,  her  face  scarlet. 

"Madame,"  said  Giovanni,  advancing  a  step  and  con 
fronting  her,  "  you  say  that  I  am  married,  and  that  I  am 
contemplating  a  monstrous  crime.  Upon  what  do  you  base 
your  extraordinary  assertions  ?  " 

"  Upon  attested  copies  of  your  marriage  certificate,  of 
the  civil  register  where  your  handwriting  has  been  seen 
and  recognised.  What  more  would  you  have  ?  " 

"  It  is  monstrous  ! "  cried  the  Prince,  advancing  again. 
"It  is  the  most  abominable  lie  ever  concocted!  My 
son  married  without  my  knowledge,  and  to  a  peasant ! 
Absurd ! " 

But  Giovanni  waved  his  father  back,  and  kept  his  place 
before  Donna  Tullia. 

"I  give  you  the  alternative  of  producing  instantly  those 
proofs  you  refer  to,"  he  said,  "  and  which  you  certainly 
cannot  produce,  or  of  waiting  in  this  house  until  a  com 
petent  physician  has  decided  whether  you  are  sufficiently 
sane  to  be  allowed  to  go  home  alone." 

Donna  Tullia  hesitated.    She  was  in  a  terrible  position, 


SAEACINESCA.  345 

for  Del  Eerice  had  left  Rome  suddenly,  and  though  the 
papers  were  somewhere  in  his  house,  she  knew  not  where, 
nor  how  to  get  at  them.  It  was  impossible  to  imagine  a 
situation  more  desperate,  and  she  felt  it  as  she  looked 
round  and  saw  the  pale  dark  faces  of  the  three  resolute 
persons  whose  anger  she  had  thus  roused.  She  believed 
that  Giovanni  was  capable  of  anything,  but  she  was 
astonished  at  his  extraordinary  calmness.  She  hesitated 
for  a  moment. 

"That  is  perfectly  just,"  said  Corona.  "If  you  have 
proofs,  you  can  produce  them.  If  you  have  none,  you 
are  insane." 

"I  have  them,  and  I  will  produce  them  before  this  hour 
to-morrow,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  not  knowing  how  she 
should  get  the  papers,  but  knowing  that  she  was  lost  if 
she  failed  to  obtain  them. 

"Why  not  to-day — at  once?"  asked  Giovanni,  with 
some  scorn. 

"It  will  take  twenty-four  hours  to  forge  them," 
•growled  his  father. 

"You  have  no  right  to  insult  me  so  grossly,"  cried 
Donna  Tullia.  "But  beware — I  have  you  in  my  power. 
By  this  time  to-morrow  you  shall  see  with  your  own 
eyes  that  I  speak  the  truth.  Let  me  go,"  she  cried,  as 
the  old  Prince  placed  himself  between  her  and  the  door. 

"I  will,"  said  he.  "But  before  you  go,  I  beg  you  to 
observe  that  if  between  now  and  the  time  you  show  us 
these  documents  you  breathe  abroad  one  word  of  your 
accusations,  I  will  have  you  arrested  as  a  dangerous 
lunatic,  and  lodged  in  Santo  Spirito  ;  and  if  these  papers 
are  not  authentic,  you  will  be  arrested  to-morrow  after 
noon  on  a  charge  of  forgery.  You  quite  understand 
me  ? "  He  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass.  She  laughed 
scornfully  in  his  face,  and  went  out. 

When  she  was  gone  the  three  looked  at  each  other,  as 
though  trying  to  comprehend  what  had  happened.  In 
deed,  it  was  beyond  their  comprehension.  Corona 
leaned  against  the  chimneypiece,  and  her  eyes  rested 


346  SABACINESCA. 

lovingly  upon  Giovanni.  No  doubt  had  ever  crossed  her 
mind  of  his  perfect  honesty.  Old  Saracinesca  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  for  a  moment,  and  then,  striking 
the  palms  of  his  hands  together,  turned  and  began  to 
walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  G-iovanni,  "  at  the  time  she 
mentions  I  was  in  Canada,  upon  a  shooting  expedition, 
with  a  party  of  Englishmen.  It  is  easy  to  prove  that,  as 
they  are  all  alive  and  well  now,  so  far  as  I  have  heard. 
Donna  Tullia  is  clearly  out  of  her  mind." 

"  The  news  of  your  engagement  has  driven  her  mad," 
said  the  old  Prince,  with  a  grim  laugh.  "  It  is  a  very 
interesting  and  romantic  case." 

Corona  blushed  a  little,  and  her  eyes  sought  Giovanni's, 
but  her  face  was  very  grave.  It  was  a  terrible  thing  to 
see  a  person  she  had  known  so  long  becoming  insane,  and 
for  the  sake  of  the  man  she  herself  so  loved.  And  yet 
she  had  not  a  doubt  of  Donna  Tullia's  madness.  It  was 
very  sad. 

"I  wonder  who  could  have  put  this  idea  into  her 
head,"  said  Giovanni,  thoughtfully.  "  It  does  not  look 
like  a  creation  of  her  own  brain.  I  wonder,  too,  what 
absurdities  she  will  produce  in  the  way  of  documents. 
Of  course  they  must  be  forged." 

"  She  will  not  bring  them,"  returned  his  father,  in  a 
tone  of  certainty.  "  We  shall  hear  to-morrow  that  she 
is  raving  in  the  delirium  of  a  brain-fever." 

"  Poor  thing ! "  exclaimed  Corona.  "  It  is  dreadful  to 
think  of  it." 

"  It  is  dreadful  to  think  that  she  should  have  caused 
you  all  this  trouble  and  annoyance,"  said  Giovanni, 
warmly.  "  You  must  have  had  a  terrible  scene  with  her 
before  we  came.  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Just  what  she  said  to  you.  Then  she  began  to  rail 
against  you  j  and  I  sent  for  you,  and  told  her  that  unless 
she  could  be  silent  I  would  lock  her  up  alone  until  you 
arrived.  So  she  sat  down  in  that  chair,  and  pretended 
to  read.  But  it  was  an  immense  relief  when  you  came ! " 


SAEACINESCA.  347 

"  You  did  not  once  believe  what  she  said  might  possibly 
be  true  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  with  a  loving  look. 

"  I  ?  How  could  you  ever  think  it ! "  exclaimed  Corona. 
Then  she  laughed,  and  added,  "  But  of  course  you  knew 
that  I  would  not.77 

"Indeed,  yes,"  he  answered.  "It  never  entered  my 
head." 

"  By-the-bye,"  said  old  Saracinesca,  glancing  at  the 
Duchessa's  black  bonnet  and  gloved  hands,  "you  must 
have  been  just  ready  to  go  out  when  she  came — we  must 
not  keep  you.  I  suppose  that  when  she  said  she  would 
bring  her  proofs  to-morrow  at  this  hour,  she  meant  she 
would  bring  them  here.  Shall  we  come  to-morrow  then  ?  " 

«  Yes — by  all  means,"  she  answered.  "  Come  to  break 
fast  at  one  o'clock.  I  am  alone,  you  know,  for  Sister 
Gabrielle  has  insisted  upon  going  back  to  her  community. 
But  what  does  it  matter  now  ?  " 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  echoed  the  Prince.  "  You  are 
to  be  married  so  soon.  I  really  think  we  can  do  as  we 
please."  He  generally  did  as  he  pleased. 

The  two  men  left  her,  and  a  few  minutes  later  she  de 
scended  the  steps  of  the  palace  and  entered  her  carriage, 
as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

Six  months  had  passed  since  she  had  given  her  troth  to 
Giovanni  upon  the  tower  of  Saracinesca,  and  she  knew 
that  she  loved  him  better  now  than  then.  Little  had  hap 
pened  of  interest  in  the  interval  of  time,  and  the  days  had 
seemed  long.  But  until  after  Christmas  she  had  remained 
at  Astrardente,  busying  herself  constantly  with  the  im 
provements  she  had  already  begun,  and  aided  by  the  coun 
sels  of  Giovanni.  He  had  taken  a  cottage  of  hers  in  the 
lower  part  of  her  village,  and  had  fitted  it  up  with  the 
few  comforts  he  judged  necessary.  In  this  lodging  he  had 
generally  spent  half  the  week,  going  daily  to  the  palace 
upon  the  hill  and  remaining  for  long  hours  in  Corona's 
society,  studying  her  plans  and  visiting  with  her  the  works 
which  grew  beneath  their  joint  direction.  She  had  grown 
to  know  him  as  she  had  not  known  him  before,  and  to 


348  SARACINESCA. 

understand  more  fully  his  manly  character.  He  was  a 
very  resolute  man,  and  very  much  in  earnest  when  he 
chanced  to  be  doing  anything ;  but  the  strain  of  melan 
choly  which  he  inherited  from  his  mother  made  him  often 
inclined  to  a  sort  of  contemplative  idleness,  during  which 
his  mind  seemed  preoccupied  with  absorbing  thoughts. 
Many  people  called  his  fits  of  silence  an  affectation,  or 
part  of  his  system  for  rendering  himself  interesting ;  but 
Corona  soon  saw  how  real  was  his  abstraction,  and  she  saw 
also  that  she  alone  was  able  to  attract  his  attention  and 
interest  him  when  the  fit  was  upon  him.  Slowly,  by  a 
gradual  study  of  him,  she  learned  what  few  had  ever 
guessed,  namely,  that  beneath  the  experienced  man  of  the 
world,  under  his  modest  manner  and  his  gentle  ways,  there 
lay  a  powerful  mainspring  of  ambition,  a  mine  of  strength, 
which  would  one  day  exert  itself  and  make  itself  felt  upon 
his  surroundings.  He  had  developed  slowly,  feeding  upon 
many  experiences  of  the  world  in  many  countries,  his  quick 
Italian  intelligence  comprehending  often  more  than  it 
seemed  to  do,  while  the  quiet  dignity  he  got  from  his 
Spanish  blood  made  him  appear  often  very  cold.  But  now 
and  again,  when  under  the  influence  of  some  large  idea, 
his  tongue  was  loosed  in  the  charm  of  Corona's  presence, 
and  he  spoke  to  her,  as  he  had  never  spoken  to  any  one, 
of  projects  and  plans  which  should  make  the  world  move. 
She  did  not  always  understand  him  wholly,  but  she  knew 
that  the  man  she  loved  was  something  more  than  the 
world  at  large  believed  him  to  be,  and  there  was  a  thrill 
of  pride  in  the  thought  which  delighted  her  inmost  soul. 
She,  too,  was  ambitious,  but  her  ambition  was  all  for  him. 
She  felt  that  there  was  little  room  for  common  aspirations 
in  his  position  or  in  her  own.  All  that  high  birth,  and 
wealth,  and  personal  consideration  could  give,  they  both 
had  abundantly,  beyond  their  utmost  wishes ;  anything 
they  could  desire  beyond  that  must  lie  in  a  larger  sphere 
of  action  than  mere  society,  in  the  world  of  political  power. 
She  herself  had  had  dreams,  and  entertained  them  still, 
of  founding  some  great  institution  of  charity,  of  doing 


SARACINESCA.  349 

something  for  her  poorer  fellows.  But  she  learned  by 
degrees  that  Giovanni  looked  further  than  to  such  ordi 
nary  means  of  employing  power,  and  that  there  was  in  him 
a  great  ambition  to  bring  great  forces  to  bear  upon  great 
questions  for  the  accomplishment  of  great  results.  The 
six  months  of  her  engagement  to  him  had  not  only 
strengthened  her  love  for  him,  already  deep  and  strong, 
but  had  implanted  in  her  an  unchanging  determination  to 
second  him  in  all  his  life,  to  omit  nothing  in  her  power 
which  could  assist  him  in  the  career  he  should  choose  for 
himself,  and  which  she  regarded  as  the  ultimate  field  for 
his  extraordinary  powers.  It  was  strange  that,  while 
granting  him  everything  else,  people  had  never  thought  of 
calling  him  a  man  of  remarkable  intelligence.  But  no  one 
knew  him  as  Corona  knew  him ;  no  one  suspected  that 
there  was  in  him  anything  more  than  the  traditional  tem 
per  of  the  Saracinesca,  with  sufficient  mind  to  make  him 
as  fair  a  representative  of  his  race  as  his  father  was. 

There  was  more  than  mere  love  and  devotion  in  the 
complete  security  she  felt  when  she  saw  him  attacked  by 
Donna  Tullia ;  there  was  already  the  certainty  that  he 
was  born  to  be  above  small  things,  and  to  create  a  sphere 
of  his  own  in  which  he  would  move  as  other  men  could  not. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

When  Donna  Tullia  quitted  the  Palazzo  Astrardente 
her  head  swam.  She  had  utterly  failed  to  do  what  she 
had  expected ;  and  from  being  the  accuser,  she  felt  that 
she  was  suddenly  thrust  into  the  position  of  the  accused. 
Instead  of  inspiring  terror  in  Corona,  and  causing  Gio 
vanni  the  terrible  humiliation  she  had  supposed  he  would 
feel  at  the  exposure  of  his  previous  marriage,  she  had  been 
coldly  told  that  she  was  mad,  and  that  her  pretended 


350  SARACINESCA. 

proofs  were  forgeries.  Though,  she  herself  felt  no  doubt 
whatever  concerning  the  authenticity  of  the  documents, 
it  was  very  disappointing  to  find  that  the  first  mention  of 
them  produced  no  startling  effect  upon  any  one,  least  of 
all  upon  Giovanni  himself.  The  man,  she  thought,  was 
a  most  accomplished  villain;  since  he  was  capable  of 
showing  such  hardened  indifference  to  her  accusation,  he 
was  capable  also  of  thwarting  her  in  her  demonstration 
of  their  truth — and  she  trembled  at  the  thought  of  what 
she  saw.  Old  Saracinesca  was  not  a  man  to  be  trifled  with, 
nor  his  son  either:  they  were  powerful,  and  would  be 
revenged  for  the  insult.  But  in  the  meanwhile  she  had 
promised  to  produce  her  proofs  ;  and  when  she  regained 
enough  composure  to  consider  the  matter  from  all  its 
points,  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that  after  all  her  game 
was  not  lost,  seeing  that  attested  documents  are  evidence 
not  easily  refuted,  even  by  powerful  men  like  Leone  and 
Giovanni  Saracinesca.  She  gradually  convinced  herself 
that  their  indifference  was  a  pretence,  and  that  they  were 
accomplices  in  the  matter,  their  object  being  to  gain 
Corona  with  all  her  fortune  for  Giovanni's  wife.  But,  at 
the  same  time,  Donna  Tullia  felt  in  the  depths  of  her 
heart  a  misgiving :  she  was  clever  enough  to  recognise, 
even  in  spite  of  herself,  the  difference  between  a  liar  and 
an  honest  man. 

She  must  get  possession  of  these  papers — and  immedi 
ately  too ;  there  must  be  no  delay  in  showing  them  to 
Corona,  and  in  convincing  her  that  this  was  no  mere 
fable,  but  an  assertion  founded  upon  very  substantial 
evidence.  Del  Ferice  was  suddenly  gone  to  Naples  : 
obviously  the  only  way  to  get  at  the  papers  was  to  bribe 
his  servant  to  deliver  them  up.  Ugo  had  once  or  twice 
mentioned  Temistocle  to  her,  and  she  judged  from  the 
few  words  he  had  let  fall  that  the  fellow  was  a  scoundrel, 
who  would  sell  his  soul  for  money.  Madame  Mayer  drove 
home,  and  put  on  the  only  dark-coloured  gown  she  pos 
sessed,  wound  a  thick  veil  about  her  head,  provided  her 
self  with  a  number  of  bank-notes,  which  she  thrust 


SAKACINESCA.  351 

between  the  palm  of  her  hand  and  her  glove,  left  the 
house  on  foot,  and  took  a  cab.  There  was  nothing  to  be 
done  but  to  go  herself,  for  she  could  trust  no  one.  Her 
heart  beat  fast  as  she  ascended  the  narrow  stone  steps  of 
Del  Ferice's  lodging,  and  stopped  upon  the  landing  before 
the  small  green  door,  whereon  she  read  his  name.  She 
pulled  the  bell,  and  Temistocle  appeared  in  his  shirt 
sleeves. 

"  Does  Count  Del  Ferice  live  here  ? "  asked  Donna 
Tullia,  peering  over  the  man's  shoulder  into  the  dark 
and  narrow  passage  within. 

"He  lives  here,  but  he  is  gone  to  Naples,"  answered 
Temistocle,  promptly. 

"  When  will  he  be  back  ? "  she  inquired.  The  man 
raised  his  shoulders  to  his  ears,  and  spread  out  the  palms 
of  his  hands  to  signify  that  he  did  not  know.  Donna 
Tullia  hesitated.  She  had  never  attempted  to  bribe  any 
body  in  her  life,  and  hardly  knew  how  to  go  about  it. 
She  thought  that  the  sight  of  the  money  might  produce 
an  impression,  and  she  withdrew  a  bank-note  from  the  hol 
low  of  her  hand,  spreading  it  out  between  her  fingers. 
Temistocle  eyed  it  greedily. 

"  There  are  twenty-five  scudi,"  she  said.  "  If  you  will 
help  me  to  find  a  piece  of  paper  in  your  master's  room, 
you  shall  have  them." 

Temistocle  drew  himself  up  with  an  air  of  mock  pride. 
Madame  Mayer  looked  at  him. 

"Impossible,  signora,"  he  said.  Then  she  drew  out 
another.  Temistocle  eyed  the  glove  curiously  to  see  if 
it  contained  more. 

"  Signora,"  he  repeated,  "  it  is  impossible.  My  master 
would  kill  me.  I  cannot  think  of  it."  But  his  tone 
seemed  to  yield  a  little.  Donna  Tullia  found  another 
bank-note  ;  there  were  now  seventy-five  scudi  in  her  hand. 
She  thought  she  saw  Temistocle  tremble  with  excitement. 
But  still  he  hesitated. 

"  Signora,  my  conscience,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  of 
protestation. 


352  SAKACINESCA. 

"Come,"  said  Madame  Mayer,  impatiently,  "there  Is 
another — there  are  a  hundred  scudi — that  is  all  I  have 
got,"  she  added,  turning  down  her  empty  glove. 

Suddenly  Temistocle  put  out  his  hand  and  grasped  the 
bank-notes  eagerly.  But  instead  of  retiring  to  allow  her 
to  enter,  he  pushed  roughly  past  her. 

"You  may  go  in,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  and 
turning  quickly,  fled  precipitately  down  the  narrow  steps, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves  as  he  was.  Madame  Mayer  stood  for 
a  moment  looking  after  him  in  surprise,  even  when  he 
had  already  disappeared. 

Then  she  turned  and  entered  the  door  rather  timidly ; 
but  before  she  had  gone  two  steps  in  the  dark  passage, 
she  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  Del  Ferice  stood  in  her  way, 
wrapped  in  a  loose  dressing-gown,  a  curious  expression 
upon  his  pale  face,  which  from  its  whiteness  was  clearly 
distinguishable  in  the  gloom.  Temistocle  had  cheated  her, 
had  lied  in  telling  her  that  his  master  was  absent,  had 
taken  her  bribe  and  had  fled.  He  would  easily  find  an 
excuse  for  having  allowed  her  to  enter  ;  and  with  his  quick 
valet's  instinct,  he  guessed  that  she  would  not  confess  to 
Del  Ferice  that  she  had  bribed  him.  Ugo  came  forward 
a  step  and  instantly  recognised  Madame  Mayer. 

"  Donna  Tullia ! "  he  cried,  "  what  are  you  doing  ?  You 
must  not  be  seen  here." 

A  less  clever  man  than  Ugo  would  have  pretended  to  be 
overjoyed  at  her  coming.  Del  Ferice 's  fine  instincts  told 
him  that  for  whatever  cause  she  had  come — and  he  guessed 
the  cause  well  enough — he  would  get  a  firmer  hold  upon 
her  consideration  by  appearing  to  be  shocked  at  her  im 
prudence.  Donna  Tullia  was  nearly  fainting  with  fright, 
and  stood  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  passage. 

"  I  thought — I — I  must  see  you  at  once,"  she  stammered. 

"  Not  here,"  he  answered,  quickly.  "  Go  home  at  once ; 
I  will  join  you  in  five  minutes.  It  will  ruin  you  to  have 
it  known  that  you  have  been  here." 

Madame  Mayer  took  courage  at  his  tone. 

"  You  must  bring  them — those  papers,"  she  said,  hur- 


SARACINESCA.  353 

riedly.  "Something  dreadful  has  happened.  Promise 
me  to  come  at  once ! " 

"  I  will  come  at  once,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  gently 
pushing  her  towards  the  door.  "I  cannot  even  go  down 
stairs  with  you — forgive  me.  You  have  your  carriage  of 
course  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  cab,"  replied  Donna  Tullia,  faintly,  submit 
ting  to  be  put  out  of  the  door.  He  seized  her  hand  and 
kissed  it  passionately,  or  with  a  magnificent  semblance  of 
passion.  With  a  startled  look,  Donna  Tullia  turned  and 
went  rapidly  down  the  steps.  Del  Ferice  smiled  softly  to 
himself  when  she  was  gone,  and  went  in  again  to  exchange 
his  dressing-gown  for  a  coat.  He  had  her  in  his  power  at 
last.  He  had  guessed  that  she  would  betray  the  secret — 
that  after  the  engagement  became  known,  she  would  not 
be  able  to  refrain  from  communicating  it  to  Corona  d' Astrar- 
dente ;  and  so  soon  as  he  heard  the  news,  he  had  shut 
himself  up  in  his  lodging,  pretending  a  sudden  journey  to 
Naples,  determined  not  to  set  foot  out  of  the  house  until 
he  heard  that  Donna  Tullia  had  committed  herself.  He 
knew  that  when  she  had  once  spoken  she  would  make  a 
desperate  attempt  to  obtain  the  papers,  for  he  knew  that 
such  an  assertion  as  hers  would  need  to  be  immediately 
proved,  at  the  risk  of  her  position  in  society.  His  plot 
had  succeeded  so  far.  His  only  anxiety  was  to  know 
whether  she  had  mentioned  his  name  in  connection  with 
the  subject,  but  he  guessed,  from  his  knowledge  of  her 
character,  that  she  would  not  do  so :  she  would  respect 
her  oath  enough  to  conceal  his  name,  even  while  breaking 
her  promise ;  she  would  enjoy  taking  the  sole  credit  of 
the  discovery  upon  herself,  and  she  would  shun  an  avowal 
which  would  prove  her  to  have  discussed  with  any  one  else 
the  means  of  preventing  the  marriage,  because  it  would 
be  a  confession  of  jealousy,  and  consequently  of  personal 
interest  in  Don  Giovanni.  Del  Ferice  was  a  very  clever 
fellow. 

He  put  on  his  coat,  and  in  five  minutes  was  seated  in  a 
cab  on  his  way  to  Donna  Tullia's  house,  with  a  large  en- 


354  SAKACINESCA. 

velope  full  of  papers  in  his  pocket.  He  found  her  as  she 
had  left  him,  her  face  still  wrapped  in  a  veil,  walking  up 
and  down  her  drawing-room  in  great  excitement.  He  ad« 
vanced  and  saluted  her  courteously,  maintaining  a  digni 
fied  gravity  of  bearing  which  he  judged  fitting  for  the 
occasion. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  lady,"  he  said,  gently,  "  will  you 
tell  me  exactly  what  you  have  done  ?  " 

"  This  morning,"  answered  Madame  Mayer,  in  a  stifled 
voice,  "  I  heard  of  the  Astrardente's  engagement  to  Don 
Giovanni.  It  seemed  such  a  terrible  thing ! " 

"  Terrible,  indeed,"  said  Del  Ferice,  solemnly. 

"  I  sent  for  you  at  once,  to  know  what  to  do :  they  said 
you  were  gone  to  Naples.  I  thought,  of  course,  that  you 
would  approve  if  you  were  here,  because  we  ought  to  pre 
vent  such  a  dreadful  crime — of  course."  She  waited  for 
some  sign  of  assent,  but  Del  Ferice's  pale  face  expressed 
nothing  but  a  sort  of  grave  reproach. 

"  And  then,"  she  continued,  "  as  I  could  not  find  you,  I 
thought  it  was  best  to  act  at  once,  and  so  I  went  to  see  the 
Astrardente,  feeling  that  you  would  entirely  support  me. 
There  was  a  terrific  scene.  She  sent  for  the  two  Saracin- 
esca,  and  I — waited  till  they  came,  because  I  was  deter 
mined  to  see  justice  done.  I  am  sure  I  was  right, — was 
I  not?" 

"  What  did  they  say  ?  "  asked  Del  Ferice,  quietly  watch 
ing  her  face. 

"  If  you  will  believe  it,  that  monster  of  villany,  Don 
Giovanni,  was  as  cold  as  stone,  and  denied  the  whole  matter 
from  beginning  to  end ;  but  his  father  was  very  angry.  Of 
course  they  demanded  the  proofs.  I  never  saw  anything 
like  the  brazen  assurance  of  Don  Giovanni." 

"  Did  you  mention  me  ?  "  inquired  Del  Ferice. 

"  No,  I  had  not  seen  you :  of  course  I  did  not  want  to 
implicate  you.  I  said  I  would  show  them  the  papers  to 
morrow  at  the  same  hour." 

"And  then  you  came  to  see  me,"  said  Del  Ferice. 
"  That  was  very  rash.  You  might  have  seriously  com- 


SARACINESCA.  355 

promised  yourself.  I  would  have  come  if  you  had  sent 
for  me." 

"But  they  said  you  had  gone  to  Naples.  Your  ser 
vant,"  continued  Donna  Tullia,  blushing  scarlet  at  the 
remembrance  of  her  interview  with  Temistocle, — "  your 
servant  assured  me  in  person  that  you  had  gone  to 
Naples " 

"  I  see,"  replied  Del  Ferice,  quietly.  He  did  not  wish 
to  press  her  to  a  confession  of  having  tried  to  get  the 
papers  in  his  absence.  His  object  was  to  put  her  at  her 
ease. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  continued,  gently,  "  you  have  done 
an  exceedingly  rash  thing ;  but  I  will  support  you  in  every 
way,  by  putting  the  documents  in  your  possession  at 
once.  It  is  unfortunate  that  you  should  have  acted  so 
suddenly,  for  we  do  not  know  what  has  become  of  this 
Felice  Baldi,  nor  have  we  any  immediate  means  of  find 
ing  out.  It  might  have  taken  weeks  to  find  her.  Why 
were  you  so  rash  ?  You  could  have  waited  till  I  returned, 
and  we  could  have  discussed  the  matter  carefully,  and 
decided  whether  it  were  really  wise  to  make  use  of  my 
information." 

"  You  do  not  doubt  that  I  did  right  ?  "  asked  Donna 
Tullia,  turning  a  little  pale. 

"  I  think  you  acted  precipitately  in  speaking  without 
consulting  me.  All  may  yet  be  well.  But  in  the  first 
place,  as  you  did  not  ask  my  opinion,  you  will  see  the 
propriety  of  not  mentioning  my  name,  since  you  have 
not  done  so  already.  It  can  do  no  good,  for  the  papers 
speak  for  themselves,  and  whatever  value  they  may  have 
is  inherent  in  them.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  there  is  no  need  of  mentioning  you,  unless 
you  wish  to  have  a  share  in  the  exposure  of  this  abom 
inable  wickedness." 

"I  am  satisfied  with  my  share,"  replied  Del  Ferice, 
with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  It  is  not  an  important  one,"  returned  Donna  Tullia, 
nervously. 


356  SABACINESCA. 

"It  is  the  lion's  share,"  he  answered.  "Most  adorable 
of  women,  you  have  not,  I  am  sure,  forgotten  the  terms  of 
our  agreement — terms  so  dear  to  me,  that  every  word  of 
them  is  engraven  for  ever  upon  the  tablet  of  my  heart." 

Madame  Mayer  started  slightly.  She  had  not  realised 
that  her  promise  to  marry  Ugo  was  now  due — she  did 
not  believe  that  he  would  press  it ;  he  had  exacted  it  to 
frighten  her,  and  besides,  she  had  so  persuaded  herself 
that  he  would  approve  of  her  conduct,  that  she  had  not 
felt  as  though  she  were  betraying  his  secret. 

"  You  will  not — you  cannot  hold  me  to  that ;  you  ap 
prove  of  telling  the  Astrardente,  on  the  whole, — it  is  the 
same  as  though  I  had  consulted  you " 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  lady ;  you  did  not  consult  me," 
answered  Del  Ferice,  soothingly.  He  sat  near  her  by 
the  fire,  his  hat  upon  his  knee,  no  longer  watching  her, 
but  gazing  contemplatively  at  the  burning  logs.  There 
was  a  delicacy  about  his  pale  face  since  the  wound  he 
had  received  a  year  before  which  was  rather  attractive : 
from  having  been  a  little  inclined  to  stoutness,  he  had 
grown  slender  and  more  graceful,  partly  because  his 
health  had  really  been  affected  by  his  illness,  and  partly 
because  he  had  determined  never  again  to  risk  being  too 
fat. 

" I  tried  to  consult  you,"  objected  Donna  Tullia.  "It 
is  the  same  thing." 

"It  is  not  the  same  thing  to  me,"  he  answered,  "al 
though  you  have  not  involved  me  in  the  affair.  I  would 
have  most  distinctly  advised  you  to  say  nothing  about  it 
at  present.  You  have  acted  rashly,  have  put  yourself  in 
a  most  painful  situation;  and  you  have  broken  your 
promise  to  me — a  very  solemn  promise,  Donna  Tullia, 
sworn  upon  the  memory  of  your  mother  and  upon  a 
holy  relic.  One  cannot  make  light  of  such  promises  as 
that." 

"  You  made  me  give  it  in  order  to  frighten  me.  The 
Church  does  not  bind  us  to  oaths  sworn  under  compul 
sion,"  she  argued. 


SAKACINESCA.  357 

"Excuse  me;  there  was  no  compulsion  whatever.  You 
wanted  to  know  my  secret,  and  for  the  sake  of  knowing 
it  you  bound  yourself.  That  is  not  compulsion.  I  can 
not  compel  you.  I  could  not  think  of  presuming  to  com 
pel  you  to  marry  me  now.  But  I  can  say  to  you  that  I 
am  devotedly  attached  to  you,  that  to  marry  you  is  the 
aim  and  object  of  my  life,  and  if  you  refuse,  I  will  tell 
you  that  you  are  doing  a  great  wrong,  repudiating  a  sol 
emn  contract " 

"If  I  refuse — well — but  you  would  give  me  the 
papers  ? "  asked  Donna  Tullia,  who  was  beginning  to 
tremble  for  the  result  of  the  interview.  She  had  a 
vague  suspicion  that,  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  them,  she 
would  even  be  willing  to  promise  to  marry  Del  Eerice. 
It  would  be  very  wrong,  perhaps ;  but  it  would  be  for  the 
sake  of  accomplishing  good,  by  preventing  Corona  from 
falling  into  the  trap — Corona,  whom  she  hated !  Still, 
it  would  be  a  generous  uct  to  save  her.  The  minds  of 
women  like  Madame  Mayer  are  apt  to  be  a  little  tortu 
ous  when  they  find  themselves  hemmed  in  between  their 
own  jealousies,  hatreds,  and  personal  interests. 

"If  you  refused — no;  if  you  refused,  I  am  afraid  I  could 
not  give  you  the  papers/7  replied  Del  Ferice,  musing  as  he 
gazed  at  the  fire.  "I  love  you  too  much  to  lose  that 
chance  of  winning  you,  even  for  the  sake  of  saving  the 
Duchessa  d'Astrardente  from  her  fate.  Why  do  you  re 
fuse  ?  why  do  you  bargain  ? "  he  asked,  suddenly  turning 
towards  her.  "Does  all  my  devotion  count  for  nothing — 
all  my  love,  all  my  years  of  patient  waiting  ?  Oh,  you  can 
not  be  so  cruel  as  to  snatch  the  cup  from  my  very  lips ! 
It  is  not  for  the  sake  of  these  miserable  documents :  what 
is  it  to  me  whether  Don  Giovanni  appears  as  the  criminal 
in  a  case  of  bigamy — whether  he  is  ruined  now,  as  by  his 
evil  deeds  he  will  be  hereafter,  or  whether  he  goes  on  un 
harmed  and  unthwarted  upon  his  career  of  wickedness  ? 
He  is  nothing  to  me,  nor  his  pale-faced  bride  either.  It  is 
for  you  that  I  care,  for  you  that  I  will  do  anything,  bad  or 

good,  to  win  you  that  I  would  risk  my  life  and  my  soul. 
Vol.  10—16 


358  SARACINESCA. 

Can  you  not  see  it  ?  Have  I  not  been  faithful  for  very 
long  ?  Take  pity  on  me — forget  this  whole  business,  for 
get  that  you  have  promised  anything,  forget  all  except 
that  I  am  here  at  your  feet,  a  miserable  man,  unless  you 
speak  the  word,  and  turn  all  my  wretchedness  into  joy!" 

He  slipped  from  his  seat  and  knelt  upon  one  knee  before 
her,  clasping  one  of  her  hands  passionately  between  both 
his  own.  The  scene  was  well  planned  and  well  executed ; 
his  voice  had  a  ring  of  emotion  that  sounded  pleasantly  in 
Donna  Tullia's  ears,  and  his  hands  trembled  with  excite 
ment.  She  did  not  repulse  him,  being  a  vain  woman  and 
willing  to  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  passion  so  well  simu 
lated.  Perhaps,  too,  it  was  not  wholly  put  on,  for  she  was 
a  handsome,  dashing  woman,  in  the  prime  of  youth,  and 
Del  Ferice  was  a  man  who  had  always  been  susceptible  to 
charms  of  that  kind.  Donna  Tullia  hesitated,  wondering 
what  more  he  could  say.  But  he,  on  his  part,  knew  the 
danger  of  trusting  too  much  to  eloquence  when  not  backed 
by  a  greater  strength  than  his,  and  he  pressed  her  for  an 
answer. 

"Be  generous — trust  me,"  he  cried.  "Believe  that  your 
happiness  is  everything  to  me ;  believe  that  I  will  take  no 
unfair  advantage  of  a  hasty  promise.  Tell  me  that,  of  your 
own  free  will,  you  will  be  my  wife,  and  command  me  any 
thing,  that  I  may  prove  my  devotion.  It  is  so  true,  so 
honest, — Tullia,  I  adore  you,  I  live  only  for  you  !  Speak 
the  word,  and  make  me  the  happiest  of  men ! " 

He  really  looked  handsome  as  he  knelt  before  her,  and 
she  felt  the  light,  nervous  pressure  of  his  hand  at  every 
word  he  spoke.  After  all,  what  did  it  matter  ?  She  might 
accept  him,  and  then — well,  if  she  did  not  like  the  idea, 
she  could  throw  him  over.  It  would  only  cost  her  a  vio 
lent  scene,  and  a  few  moments  of  discomfort.  Meanwhile 
she  would  get  the  papers. 

"  But  you  would  give  me  the  papers,  would  you  not,  and 

leave  me  to  decide  whether Really,  Del  Ferice,"  she 

said,  interrupting  herself  with  a  nervous  laugh,  "  this  is 
very  absurd." 


SARACINESCA.  359 

"  I  implore  you  not  to  speak  of  the  papers — it  is  not 
absurd.  It  may  seem  so  to  you,  but  it  is  life  or  death  to 
me :  death  if  you  refuse  me — life  if  you  will  speak  the 
word  and  be  mine  ! " 

Donna  Tullia  made  up  her  mind.  He  would  evidently 
not  give  her  what  she  wanted,  except  in  return  for  a 
promise  of  marriage.  She  had  grown  used  to  him,  almost 
fond  of  him,  in  the  last  year. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  right,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  am  really  very  fond  of  you ;  and  if  you  will  do  all 
I  Say " 

"  Everything,  my  dear  lady ;  everything  in  the  world 
I  will  do,  if  you  will  make  me  so  supremely  happy,"  cried 
Del  Ferice,  ardently. 

"  Then — yes  ;  I  will  marry  you.  Only  get  up  and  sit 
upon  your  chair  like  a  reasonable  being.  No ;  you  really 
must  be  reasonable,  or  you  must  go  away."  Ugo  was 
madly  kissing  her  hands.  He  was  really  a  good  actor,  if 
it  was  all  acting.  She  could  not  but  be  moved  by  his  pale 
delicate  face  and  passionate  words.  With  a  quick  move 
ment  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood  before  her,  clasping 
his  hands  together  and  gazing  into  her  face. 

U0h,  I  am  the  happiest  man  alive  to-day!"  he  ex 
claimed,  and  the  sense  of  triumph  that  he  felt  lent  en 
ergy  to  his  voice. 

"Do  sit  down,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  gaily,  "and  let  us 
talk  it  all  over.  In  the  first  place,  what  am  I  to  do 
first  ?  " 

Del  Ferice  found  it  convenient  to  let  his  excitement 
subside,  and  as  a  preliminary  he  walked  twice  the  length 
of  the  room. 

"  It  is  so  hard  to  be  calm ! "  he  exclaimed ;  but  never 
theless  he  presently  sat  down  in  his  former  seat,  and 
seemed  to  collect  his  faculties  with  wonderful  ease. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  first  ?  "  asked  Donna  Tullia  again. 

"In  the  first  place,"  answered  Del  Ferice,  "here  are 
those  precious  papers.  As  they  are  notary's  copies  them 
selves,  and  not  the  originals,  it  is  of  no  importance 


360  SARACINESCA. 

whether  Don  Giovanni  tears  them  up  or  not.  It  is  easy 
to  get  others  if  he  does.  I  have  noted  down  all  the 
names  and  dates.  I  wish  we  had  some  information  about 
Felice  Baldi.  It  is  very  unfortunate  that  we  have  not, 
but  it  would  perhaps  take  a  month  to  find  her." 

"  I  must  act  at  once,"  said  Donna  Tullia,  firmly ;  for 
she  remembered  old  Saracinesca's  threats,  and  was  in  a 
hurry. 

"  Of  course.  These  documents  speak  for  themselves. 
They  bear  the  address  of  the  notary  who  made  the  copies 
in  Aquila.  If  the  Saracinesca  choose,  they  can  them 
selves  go  there  and  see  the  originals." 

"  Could  they  not  destroy  those  too  ? "  asked  Donna 
Tullia,  nervously. 

"  No ;  they  can  only  see  one  at  a  time,  and  the  person, 
who  will  show  them  will  watch  them.  Besides,  it  is 
easy  to  write  to  the  curate  of  the  church  of  San  Bernar 
dino  to  be  on  his  guard.  We  will  do  that  in  any  case. 
The  matter  is  perfectly  plain.  Your  best  course  is  to 
meet  the  Astrardente  to-morrow  at  the  appointed  time, 
and  simply  present  these  papers  for  inspection.  No  one 
can  deny  their  authenticity,  for  they  bear  the  Govern 
ment  stamp  and  the  notary's  seal,  as  you  see,  here  and 
here.  If  they  ask  you,  as  they  certainly  will,  how  you 
came  by  them,  you  can  afford  to  answer,  that,  since  you 
have  them,  it  is  not  necessary  to  know  whence  they  came ; 
that  they  may  go  and  verify  the  originals ;  and  that  in 
warning  them  of  the  fact,  you  have  fulfilled  a  duty  to  so 
ciety,  and  have  done  a  service  to  the  Astrardente,  if  not 
to  Giovanni  Saracinesca.  You  have  them  in  your  power, 
and  you  can  afford  to  take  the  high  hand  in  the  matter. 
They  must  believe  the  evidence  of  their  senses  j  and  they 
must  either  allow  that  Giovanni's  first  wife  is  alive,  or 
they  must  account  for  her  death,  and  prove  it.  There  is 
no  denial  possible  in  the  face  of  these  proofs." 

Donna  Tullia  drew  a  long  breath,  for  the  case  seemed 
perfectly  clear;  and  the  anticipation  of  her  triumph 
already  atoned  for  the  sacrifice  she  had  made. 


SARACINESCA.  361 

"You  are  a  wonderful  man,  Del  Ferice ! "  she  ex 
claimed.  "  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  wise  in  promis 
ing  to  marry  you,  but  I  have  the  greatest  admiration  for 
your  intellect/' 

Del  Ferice  glanced  at  her  and  smiled.  Then  he  made 
as  though  he  would  return  the  papers  to  his  pocket.  She 
sprang  towards  him,  and  seized  him  by  the  wrist. 

"Do  not  be  afraid!"  she  cried,  "I  will  keep  my 
promise." 

"  Solemnly  ?  "  he  asked,  still  smiling,  and  holding  the 
envelope  firmly  in  his  hand. 

"Solemnly,"  she  answered;  and  then  added,  with  a 
quick  laugh,  "but  you  are  so  abominably  clever,  that  I 
believe  you  could  make  me  marry  you  against  my  will." 

"  Never ! "  said  Del  Ferice,  earnestly ;  "  I  love  you  far 
too  much."  He  had  wonderfully  clear  instincts.  "  And 
now,"  he  continued,  "we  have  settled  that  matter j 
when  shall  the  happy  day  be  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  is  time  enough  to  think  of  that,"  answered 
Donna  Tullia,  with  a  blush  that  might  have  passed  for 
the  result  of  a  coy  shyness,  but  which  was  in  reality 
caused  by  a  certain  annoyance  at  being  pressed. 

"No,"  objected  Del  Ferice,  "  we  must  announce  our  en 
gagement  at  once.  There  is  no  reason  for  delay — to-day 
is  better  than  to-morrow." 

"  To-day  ?  "  repeated  Donna  Tullia,  in  some  alarm. 

"  Why  not  ?  Why  not,  my  dear  lady,  since  you  and 
I  are  both  in  earnest  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  much  better  to  let  this  affair  pass 
first." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  argued,  "  from  the  moment  we 
are  publicly  engaged  I  become  your  natural  protector. 
If  any  one  offers  you  any  insult  in  this  matter,  I  shall 
then  have  an  acknowledged  right  to  avenge  you — a  right 
I  dearly  covet.  Do  you  think  I  would  dread  to  meet 
Don  Giovanni  again  ?  He  wounded  me,  it  is  true,  but 
he  has  the  marks  of  my  sword  upon  his  body  also.  Give 
me  at  once  the  privilege  of  appearing  as  your  champion, 


362  SARACINESCA. 

and  you  will  not  regret  it.  But  if  you  delay  doing  so, 
all  sorts  of  circumstances  may  arise,  all  sorts  of  unpleas 
antness — who  could  protect  you  ?  Of  course,  even  in 
that  case  I  would ;  but  you  know  the  tongues  of  the  gos 
sips  in  Rome — it  would  do  you  harm  instead  of  good." 

"  That  is  true,  and  you  are  very  brave  and  very  kind. 
But  it  seems  almost  too  soon,"  objected  Donna  Tullia, 
who,  however,  was  fast  learning  to  yield  to  his  judg 
ment. 

"Those  things  cannot  be  done  too  soon.  It  gives  us 
liberty,  and  it  gives  the  world  satisfaction ;  it  protects 
you,  and  it  will  be  an  inestimable  pleasure  to  me.  Why 
delay  the  inevitable  ?  Let  us  appear  at  once  as  engaged 
to  be  married,  and  you  put  a  sword  in  my  hand  to  de 
fend  you  and  to  enforce  your  position  in  this  unfortu 
nate  affair  with  the  Astrardente." 

"Well,  you  may  announce  it  if  you  please,"  she 
answered,  reluctantly. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear  lady,"  said  Del  Ferice.  "  And 
here  are  the  papers.  Make  the  best  use  of  them  you  can 
— any  use  that  you  make  of  them  will  be  good,  I  know. 
How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  " 

Donna  Tullia's  fingers  closed  upon  the  large  envelope 
with  a  grasping  grip,  as  though  she  would  never  relin 
quish  that  for  which  she  had  paid  so  dear  a  price.  She 
had,  indeed,  at  one  time  almost  despaired  of  getting  pos 
session  of  them,  and  she  had  passed  a  terrible  hour,  be 
sides  having  abased  herself  to  the  fruitless  bribery  she 
had  practised  upon  Temistocle.  But  she  had  gained 
her  end,  even  at  the  expense  of  permitting  Del  Ferice  to 
publish  her  engagement  to  marry  him.  She  felt  that 
she  could  break  it  off  if  she  decided  at  last  that  the  union 
was  too  distasteful  to  her;  but  she  foresaw  that,  from 
the  point  of  worldly  ambition,  she  would  be  no  great 
loser  by  marrying  a  man  of  such  cunning  wit,  who  pos 
sessed  such  weapons  against  his  enemies,  and  who,  on  the 
whole,  as  she  believed,  entirely  sympathised  with  her 
view  of  life.  She  recognised  that  her  chances  of  making 


SARACINESCA.  363 

a  great  match  were  diminishing  rapidly ;  she  could  not 
tell  precisely  why,  but  she  felt,  to  her  mortification,  that 
she  had  not  made  a  good  use  of  her  rich  widowhood : 
people  did  not  respect  her  much,  and  as  this  touched  her 
vanity,  she  was  susceptible  to  their  lack  of  deference. 
She  had  done  no  harm,  but  she  knew  that  every  one 
thought  her  an  irresponsible  woman,  and  the  thrifty  Ro 
mans  feared  her  extravagance,  though  some  of  them  per 
haps  courted  her  fortune :  many  had  admired  her,  and 
had  to  some  extent  expressed  their  devotion,  but  no  scion 
of  all  the  great  families  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife. 
The  nearest  approach  to  a  proposal  had  been  the  doubt 
ful  attention  she  had  received  from  Giovanni  Saracinesca 
during  the  time  when  his  headstrong  father  had  almost 
persuaded  him  to  marry  her,  and  she  thought  of  her  dis 
appointed  hopes  with  much  bitterness.  To  destroy  Gio 
vanni  by  the  revelations  she  now  proposed  to  make,  to 
marry  Del  Ferice,  and  then  to  develop  her  position  by 
means  of  the  large  fortune  she  had  inherited  from  her 
first  husband,  seemed  on  the  whole  a  wise  plan.  Del 
Ferice's  title  was  not  much,  to  be  sure,  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  was  intimate  with  every  one  she  knew,  and  for 
a  few  thousand  scudi  she  could  buy  some  small  estate 
with  a  good  title  attached  to  it.  She  would  then  change 
her  mode  of  life,  and  assume  the  pose  of  a  social  power, 
which  as  a  young  widow  she  could  not  do.  It  was  not 
so  bad,  after  all,  especially  if  she  could  celebrate  the  first 
day  of  her  engagement  by  destroying  the  reputation  of 
Giovanni  Saracinesca,  root  and  branch,  and  dealing  a  blow 
at  Corona's  happiness  from  which  it  would  not  recover. 

As  for  Del  Ferice,  he  regarded  his  triumph  as  complete. 
He  cared  little  what  became  of  Giovanni — whether  he 
was  able  to  refute  the  evidence  brought  against  him  or 
not.  There  had  been  nothing  in  the  matter  which  was 
dishonest,  and  properly  made  out  marriage-certificates 
are  not  easy  things  to  annul.  Giovanni  might  swim  or 
sink — it  was  nothing  to  Ugo  del  Ferice,  now  that  he  had 
gained  the  great  object  of  his  life,  and  was  at  liberty  to 


364  SARACINESCA. 

publish  his  engagement  to  Donna  Tullia  Mayer.  He 
lost  110  time  in  telling  his  friends  the  good  news,  and 
before  the  evening  was  over  a  hundred  people  had  con 
gratulated  him.  Donna  Tullia,  too,  appeared  in  more 
than  usually  gay  attire,  and  smilingly  received  the  expres 
sions  of  good  wishes  which  were  showered  upon  her. 
She  was  not  inclined  to  question  the  sincerity  of  those 
who  spoke,  for  in  her  present  mood  the  stimulus  of  a 
little  popular  noise  was  soothing  to  her  nerves,  which 
had  been  badly  strained  by  the  excitement  of  the  day. 
When  she  closed  her  eyes  she  had  evil  visions  of  Temis- 
tocle  retreating  at  full  speed  down  the  stairs  with  his 
unearned  bribe,  or  of  Del  Ferice's  calm,  pale  face,  as  he 
had  sat  in  her  house  that  afternoon  grasping  the  precious 
documents  in  his  hand  until  she  promised  to  pay  the 
price  he  asked,  which  was  herself.  But  she  smiled  at 
each  new  congratulation  readily  enough,  and  said  in  her 
heart  that  she  would  yet  become  a  great  power  in  society, 
and  make  her  house  the  centre  of  all  attractions.  And 
meanwhile  she  pondered  on  the  title  she  should  buy  for 
her  husband:  she  came  of  high  blood  herself,  and  she 
knew  how  such  dignities  as  a  "  principe "  or  a  "  duca  " 
were  regarded  when  bought.  There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  find  some  snug  little  marquisate — "  marchese  " 
sounded  very  well,  though  one  could  not  be  called  "  eccel- 
lenza "  by  one's  servants ;  still,  as  the  daughter  of  a 
prince,  she  might  manage  even  that.  "Marchese  " — yes, 
that  would  do.  What  a  pity  there  were  only  four  "  can 
opy  "  marquises — "  marchesi  del  baldacchino  " — in  Rome 
with  the  rank  of  princes  !  That  was  exactly  the  combi 
nation  of  dignities  Donna  Tullia  required  for  her  husband. 
But  once  a  "  marchese,"  if  she  was  very  charitable,  and 
did  something  in  the  way  of  a  public  work,  the  Holy 
Father  might  condescend  to  make  Del  Ferice  a  "  duca  " 
in  the  ordinary  course  as  a  step  in  the  nobility.  Donna 
Tullia  dreamed  many  things  that  night,  and  she  after 
wards  accomplished  most  of  them,  to  the  surprise  of 
everybody,  and,  if  the  truth  were  told,  to  her  own  consid 
erable  astonishment. 


SAEACINESCA.  365 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

"Giovanni,  you  are  the  victim  of  some  outrageous 
plot/'  said  old  Saracinesca,  entering  his  son's  room  on  the 
following  morning.  "  I  have  thought  it  all  out  in  the 
night,  and  I  am  convinced  of  it." 

Giovanni  was  extended  upon  a  sofa,  with  a  book  in  his 
hand  and  a  cigar  between  his  lips.  He  looked  up  quietly 
from  his  reading. 

"  I  am  not  the  victim  yet,  nor  ever  will  be,"  he  an 
swered  ;  "  but  it  is  evident  that  there  is  something  at  the 
bottom  of  this  besides  Madame  Mayer's  imagination.  I 
will  find  out." 

"What  pleases  me  especially,"  remarked  the  old  Prince, 
"  is  the  wonderful  originality  of  the  idea.  It  would  have 
been  commonplace  to  make  out  that  you  had  poisoned 
half-a-dozen  wives,  and  buried  their  bodies  in  the  vaults 
of  Saracinesca;  it  would  have  been  banal  to  say  that 
you  were  not  yourself,  but  some  one  else  j  or  to  assert 
that  you  were  a  revolutionary  agent  in  disguise,  and  that 
the  real  Giovanni  had  been  murdered  by  you,  who  had 
taken  his  place  without  my  discovering  it, — very  common 
place  all  that.  But  to  say  that  you  actually  have  a  living 
wife,  and  to  try  to  prove  it  by  documents,  is  an  idea 
worthy  of  a  great  mind.  It  takes  one's  breath  away." 

Giovanni  laughed. 

"  It  will  end  in  our  having  to  go  to  Aquila  in  search  of 
my  supposed  better  half,"  he  said.  "Aquila,  of  all  places ! 
If  she  had  said  Paris — or  even  Florence — but  why,  in  the 
name  of  geography,  Aquila  ?  " 

"She  probably  looked  for  some  out-of-the-way  place 
upon  an  alphabetical  list,"  laughed  the  Prince.  "  Aquila 
stood  first.  We  shall  know  in  two  hours — come  along. 
It  is  time  to  be  going." 

They  found  Corona  in  her  boudoir.  She  had  passed  an 
uneasy  hour  on  the  previous  afternoon  after  they  had  left 


366  SARACINESCA. 

her,  but  her  equanimity  was  now  entirely  restored.  She 
had  made  up  her  mind  that,  however  ingenious  the  con 
cocted  evidence  might  turn  out  to  be,  it  was  absolutely 
impossible  to  harm  Giovanni  by  means  of  it.  His  position 
was  beyond  attack,  as,  in  her  mind,  his  character  was  above 
slander.  Far  from  experiencing  any  sensation  of  anxiety 
as  to  the  result  of  Donna  Tullia's  visit,  what  she  most  felt 
was  curiosity  to  see  what  these  fancied  proofs  would  be 
like.  She  still  believed  that  Madame  Mayer  was  mad. 

"I  have  been  remarking  to  Giovanni  upon  Donna 
Tullia's  originality,"  said  old  Saracinesca.  "  It  is  charm 
ing  ;  it  shows  a  talent  for  fiction  which  the  world  has  been 
long  in  realising,  which  we  have  not  even  suspected — an 
amazing  and  transcendent  genius  for  invention." 

"  It  is  pure  insanity,"  answered  Corona,  in  a  tone  of 
conviction.  "  The  woman  is  mad." 

"Mad  as  an  Englishman,"  asseverated  the  Prince,  using 
the  most  powerful  simile  in  the  Italian  language.  "  We 
will  have  her  in  Santo  Spirito  before  night,  and  she  will 
puzzle  the  doctors." 

"  She  is  not  mad,"  said  Giovanni,  quietly.  "  I  do  not 
even  believe  we  shall  find  that  her  documents  are  forg 
eries." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  his  father.  Corona  looked  quickly  at 
Giovanni. 

"  You  yourself,"  said  the  latter,  turning  to  old  Saraci 
nesca,  "  were  assuring  me  half  an  hour  ago  that  I  was  the 
victim  of  a  plot.  Now,  if  anything  of  the  kind  is  seriously 
attempted,  you  may  be  sure  it  will  be  well  done.  She  has 
a  good  ally  in  the  man  to  whom  she  is  engaged.  Del  Ferice 
is  no  fool,  and  he  hates  me." 

"  Del  Ferice  ! "  exclaimed  Corona,  in  surprise.  As  she 
went  nowhere  as  yet,  she  had.,  of  course,  not  heard  the 
news  which  had  been  published  on  the  previous  evening. 
"You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  she  is  going  to  marry  Del 
Ferice?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Giovanni.  "They  both  appeared 
last  night  and  announced  the  fact,  and  received  every 
body's  congratulations.  It  is  a  most  appropriate  match." 


SABACINESCA.  367 

"I  agree  with,  you — a  beautiful  triangular  alliteration 
of  wit,  wealth,  and  wickedness,"  observed  the  Prince. 
"  He  has  brains,  she  has  money,  and  they  are  both  as  bad 
as  possible." 

"  I  thought  you  used  to  like  Donna  Tullia,"  said  Corona, 
suppressing  a  smile. 

"  I  did,"  said  old  Saracinesca,  stoutly.  "  I  wanted  Gio 
vanni  to  marry  her.  It  has  pleased  Providence  to  avert 
that  awful  catastrophe.  I  liked  Madame  Mayer  because 
she  was  rich  and  noisy  and  good-looking,  and  I  thought 
that,  as  Giovanni's  wife,  she  would  make  the  house  gay. 
We  are  such  a  pair  of  solemn  bears  together,  that  it  seemed 
appropriate  that  somebody  should  make  us  dance.  It  was 
a  foolish  idea,  I  confess,  though  I  thought  it  very  beautiful 
at  the  time.  It  merely  shows  how  liable  we  are  to  make 
mistakes.  Imagine  Giovanni  married  to  a  lunatic  ! " 

"I  repeat  that  she  is  not  mad,"  said  Giovanni.  "I 
cannot  tell  how  they  have  managed  it,  but  I  am  sure  it 
has  been  managed  well,  and  will  give  us  trouble.  You 
will  see." 

"I  do  not  understand  at  all  how  there  can  be  any 
trouble  about  it,"  said  Corona,  proudly.  "  It  is  perfectly 
simple  for  us  to  tell  the  truth,  and  to  show  that  what 
they  say  is  a  lie.  You  can  prove  easily  enough  that  you 
were  in  Canada  at  the  time.  I  wish  it  were  time  for  her 
to  come.  Let  us  go  to  breakfast  in  the  meanwhile." 

The  views  taken  by  the  three  were  characteristic  of 
their  various  natures.  The  old  Prince,  who  was  violent 
of  temper,  and  inclined  always  to  despise  an  enemy  in 
any  shape,  scoffed  air  the  idea  that  there  was  anything  tcr 
show ;  and  though  his  natural  wit  suggested  from  time 
to  time  that  there  was  a  plot  against  his  son,  his  general 
opinion  was,  that  it  was  a  singular  case  of  madness.  He 
hardly  believed  Donna  Tullia  would  appear  at  all ;  and 
if  she  did,  he  expected  some  extraordinary  outburst, 
some  pitiable  exhibition  of  insanity.  Corona,  on  the 
other  hand,  maintained  a  proud  indifference,  scorning  to 
suppose  that  anything  could  possibly  injure  Giovanni  in 


368  SARACINESCA. 

any  way,  loving  him  too  entirely  to  admit  that  he  was  vul 
nerable  at  all,  still  less  that  he  could  possibly  have  done 
anything  to  give  colour  to  the  accusation  brought  against 
him.  Giovanni  alone  of  all  the  three  foresaw  that  there 
would  be  trouble,  and  dimly  guessed  how  the  thing  had 
been  done ;  for  he  did  not  fall  into  his  father's  error  of 
despising  an  enemy,  and  he  had  seen  too  much  of  the 
world  not  to  understand  that  danger  is  often  greatest 
when  the  appearance  of  it  is  least. 

Breakfast  was  hardly  over  when  Donna  Tullia  was  an 
nounced.  All  rose  to  meet  her,  and  all  looked  at  her 
with  equal  interest.  She  was  calmer  than  on  the  previ 
ous  day,  and  she  carried  a  package  of  papers  in  her  hand. 
Her  red  lips  were  compressed,  and  her  eyes  looked  defi 
antly  round  upon  all  present.  Whatever  might  be  her 
faults,  she  was  not  a  coward  when  brought  face  to  face 
with  danger.  She  was  determined  to  carry  the  matter 
through,  both  because  she  knew  that  she  had  no  other 
alternative,  and  because  she  believed  herself  to  be  doing 
a  righteous  act,  which,  at  the  same  time,  fully  satisfied 
her  desire  for  vengeance.  She  came  forward  boldly  and 
stood  beside  the  table  in  the  midst  of  the  room.  Corona 
was  upon  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  and  the  two  Saraci- 
nesca  upon  the  other.  All  three  held  their  breath  in 
expectation  of  what  Donna  Tullia  was  about  to  say ;  the 
sense  of  her  importance  impressed  her,  and  her  love  of 
dramatic  situations .  being  satisfied,  she  assumed  some 
thing  of  the  air  of  a  theatrical  avenging  angel,  and  her 
utterance  was  rhetorical. 

"  I  come  here,"  she  said,  "  at  your  invitation,  to  exhibit 
to  your  eyes  the  evidence  of  what  I  yesterday  asserted — 
the  evidence  of  the  monstrous  crime  of  which  I  accuse 
that  man."  Here  she  raised  her  finger  with  a  gesture  of 
scorn,  and  extending  her  whole  arm,  pointed  towards 
Giovanni. 

"  Madam,"  interrupted  the  old  Prince,  "  I  will  trouble 
you  to  select  your  epithets  and  expressions  with  more 
care.  Pray  be  brief,  and  show  what  you  have  brought." 


SARACINESCA.  369 

"I  will  show  it,  indeed,"  replied  Donna  Tullia,  "and 
you  shall  tremble  at  what  you  see.  When  you  have  evi 
dence  of  the  truth  of  what  I  say,  you  may  choose  any 
language  you  please  to  define  the  action  of  your  son. 
These  documents,"  she  said,  holding  up  the  package,  "  are 
attested  copies  made  from  the  originals — the  first  two  in 
the  possession  of  the  curate  of  the  church  of  San  Ber 
nardino  da  Siena,  at  Aquila,  the  other  in  the  office  of  the 
Stato  Civile  in  the  same  city.  As  they  are  only  copies, 
you  need  not  think  that  you  will  gain  anything  by  de 
stroying  them." 

"  Spare  your  comments  upon  our  probable  conduct/' 
interrupted  the  Prince,  roughly.  Donna  Tullia  eyed  him 
with  a  scornful  glance,  and  her  face  began  to  grow  red. 

"  You  may  destroy  them  if  you  please,"  she  repeated ; 
"  but  I  advise  you  to  observe  that  they  bear  the  Govern 
ment  stamp  and  the  notarial  seal  of  Gianbattista  Caldani, 
notary  public  in  the  city  of  Aquila,  and  that  they  are, 
consequently,  beyond  all  doubt  genuine  copies  of  genuine 
documents." 

Donna  Tullia  proceeded  to  open  the  envelope  and  with 
draw  the  three  papers  it  contained.  Spreading  them  out, 
she  took  up  the  first,  which  contained  the  extract  from 
the  curate's  book  of  banns.  It  set  forth  that  upon  the 
three  Sundays  preceding  the  19th  of  June  1863,  the  said 
curate  had  published,  in  the  parish  church  of  San  Ber 
nardino  da  Siena,  the  banns  of  marriage  between  Gio 
vanni  Saracinesca  and  Felice  Baldi.  Donna  Tullia  read 
it  aloud. 

Giovanni  could  hardly  suppress  a  laugh,  it  sounded  so 
strangely.  Corona  herself  turned  pale,  though  she 
firmly  believed  the  whole  thing  to  be  an  imposture  of 
some  kind. 

"Permit  me,  madam,"  said  old  Saracinesca,  stepping 
forward  and  taking  the  paper  from  her  hand.  He  care 
fully  examined  the  seal  and  stamp.  "  It  is  very  cleverly 
done,"  he  said  with  a  sneer ;  "  but  there  should  be  only 
one  letter  r  in  the  name  Saracinesca — here  it  is  spelt  with 


370  SARACINESCA. 

two !  Very  clever,  but  a  slight  mistake  !  Observe,"  he 
said,  showing  the  place  to  Donna  Tullia. 

"It  is  a  mistake  of  the  copyist,"  she  said,  scornfully. 
"  The  name  is  properly  spelt  in  the  other  papers.  Here 
is  the  copy  of  the  marriage  register.  Shall  I  read  it 
also?" 

"Spare  me  the  humiliation,"  said  Giovanni,  in  quiet 
contempt.  "Spare  me  the  unutterable  mortification  of 
discovering  that  there  is  another  Giovanni  Saracinesca 
in  the  world!" 

"  I  could  not  have  believed  that  any  one  could  be  so 
hardened,"  said  Donna  Tullia.  "But  whether  you  are 
humiliated  or  not  by  the  evidence  of  your  misdeeds,  I 
will  spare  you  nothing.  Here  it  is  in  full,  and  you  may 
notice  that  your  name  is  spelt  properly  too." 

She  held  up  the  document  and  then  read  it  out — the 
copy  of  the  curate's  register,  stating  that  on  the  19th  of 
June  1863  Giovanni  Saracinesca  and  Felice  Baldi  were 
united  in  holy  matrimony  in  the  church  of  San  Bernar 
dino  da  Siena.  She  handed  the  paper  to  the  Prince,  and 
then  read  the  extract  from  the  register  of  the  Civil  mar 
riage  and  the  notary's  attestation  to  the  signatures.  She 
gave  this  also  to  old  Saracinesca,  and  then  folding  her 
arms  in  a  fine  attitude,  confronted  the  three. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  that  I  spoke  the  truth  ?  "  she  asked, 
defiantly. 

"The  thing  is  certainly  remarkably  well  done,"  an 
swered  the  old  Prince,  who  scrutinised  the  papers  with 
a  puzzled  air.  Though  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  his 
son  had  been  in  Canada  at  the  time  of  this  pretended 
marriage,  he  confessed  to  himself  that  if  such  evidence 
had  been  brought  against  any  other  man,  he  would  have 
believed  it. 

"  It  is  a  shameful  fraud  ! "  exclaimed  Corona,  looking 
at  the  papers  over  the  old  man's  shoulder. 

"  That  is  a  lie  !  "  cried  Donna  Tullia,  growing  scarlet 
with  anger. 

"Do  not  forget  your  manners,  or  you  will  get  into 


SARACINESCA.  371 

trouble/'  said  Giovanni,  sternly.  "I  see  through  the 
whole  thing.  There  has  been  no  fraud,  and  yet  the  de 
ductions  are  entirely  untrue.  In  the  first  place,  Donna 
Tullia,  how  do  you  make  the  statements  here  given  to 
coincide  with  the  fact  that  during  the  whole  summer  of 
1863  and  during  the  early  part  of  1864  I  was  in  Canada 
with  a  party  of  gentlemen,  who  are  all  alive  to  testify 
to  the  fact?" 

"I  do  not  believe  it,"  answered  Madame  Mayer,  con 
temptuously.  "  I  would  not  believe  your  friends  if  they 
were  here  and  swore  to  it.  You  will  very  likely  produce 
witnesses  to  prove  that  you  were  in  the  arctic  regions 
last  summer,  as  the  newspapers  said,  whereas  every  one 
knows  now  that  you  were  at  Saracinesca.  You  are  ex 
ceedingly  clever  at  concealing  your  movements,  as  we  all 
know." 

Giovanni  did  not  lose  his  temper,  but  calmly  proceeded 
to  demonstrate  his  theory. 

"  You  will  find  that  the  courts  of  law  will  accept  the 
evidence  of  gentlemen  upon  oath,"  he  replied,  quietly. 
"  Moreover,  as  a  further  evidence,  and  a  piece  of  very 
singular  proof,  I  can  probably  produce  Giovanni  Sara 
cinesca  and  Felice  Baldi  themselves  to  witness  against  you. 
And  I  apprehend  that  the  said  Giovanni  Saracinesca  will 
vehemently  protest  that  the  said  Felice  Baldi  is  his  wife, 
and  not  mine." 

"  You  speak  in  wonderful  riddles,  but  you  will  not  de 
ceive  me.  Money  will  doubtless  do  much,  but  it  will  not 
do  what  you  expect." 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  Giovanni,  unmoved  by  her 
reply.  "  Money  will  certainly  not  create  out  of  nothing  a 
second  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  nor  his  circle  of  acquaint 
ances,  nor  the  police  registers  concerning  him  which  are 
kept  throughout  the  kingdom  of  Italy,  very  much  as  they 
are  kept  here  in  the  Pontifical  States.-  Money  will  do 
none  of  these  things." 

While  he  was  speaking,  his  father  and  the  Duchessa 
listened  with  intense  interest. 


372  SARACINESCA. 

"  Donna  Tullia,"  continued  Giovanni,  "  I  am  willing  to 
believe  from  your  manner  that  you  are  really  sure  that  I 
am  the  man  mentioned  in  your  papers ;  but  permit  me  to 
inform  you  that  you  have  been  made  the  victim  of  a  shal 
low  trick,  probably  by  the  person  who  gave  those  same 
papers  into  your  hands,  and  suggested  to  you  the  use  you 
have  made  of  them." 

"  I  ?  I,  the  victim  of  a  trick  ?  "  repeated  Donna  Tullia, 
frightened  at  last  by  his  obstinately  calm  mannner. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  "I  know  Aquila  and  the  Abruzzi 
very  well.  It  chances  that  although  we,  the  Saracinesca 
of  K-ome,  are  not  numerous,  the  name  is  not  uncommon  in 
that  part  of  the  country.  It  is  the  same  with  all  our 
great  names.  There  are  Colonna,  Orsini,  Caetani  all  over 
the  country — there  are  even  many  families  bearing  the 
name  of  the  Medici,  who  are  extinct.  You  know  it  as 
well  as  I,  or  you  should  know  it,  for  I  believe  your  mother 
was  my  father's  cousin.  Has  it  not  struck  you  that  this 
same  Giovanni  Saracinesca  herein  mentioned,  is  simply 
some  low-born  namesake  of  mine  ?  " 

Donna  Tullia  had  grown  very  pale,  and  she  leaned  upon 
the  table  as  though  she  were  faint.  The  others  listened 
breathlessly. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Madame  Mayer,  in  a  low  and 
broken  voice. 

"Now  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  continued  Gio 
vanni.  "  I  will  go  to  Aquila  at  once,  and  I  daresay  my 
father  will  accompany  me " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  broke  in  the  old  Prince. 

"  We  will  go,  and  in  a  fortnight's  time  we  will  produce 
the  whole  history  of  this  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  together 
with  his  wife  and  himself  in  his  own  person,  if  they  are 
both  alive ;  we  will  bring  them  here,  and  they  will  assure 
you  that  you  have  been  egregiously  deceived,  played  upon 
and  put  in  a  false  position  by — by  the  person  who  furnished 
you  with  these  documents.  I  wonder  that  any  Roman  of 
common-sense  should  not  have  seen  at  once  the  cause  of 
this  mistake." 


SARACINESCA.  873 

"I  cannot  believe  it,"  murmured  Donna  Tullia.  Then 
raising  her  voice,  she  added,  "  Whatever  may  be  the  re 
sult  of  your  inquiry,  I  cannot  but  feel  that  I  have  done  my 
duty  in  this  affair.  I  do  not  believe  in  your  theory,  nor 
in  you,  and  I  shall  not,  until  you  produce  this  other  man. 
I  have  done  my  duty " 

"  An  exceedingly  painful  one,  no  doubt,"  remarked  old 
Saracinesca.  Then  he  broke  into  a  loud  peal  of  laughter. 

"  And  if  you  do  not  succeed  in  your  search,  it  will  be 
my  duty,  in  the  interests  of  society,  to  put  the  matter  in 
the  hands  of  the  police.  Since  you  have  the  effrontery 
to  say  that  those  papers  are  of  no  use,  I  demand  them 
back.77 

"  Not  at  all,  madam,"  replied  the  Prince,  whose  laughter 
subsided  at  the  renewed  boldness  of  her  tone.  "  I  will 
not  give  them  back  to  you.  I  intend  to  compare  them 
with  the  originals.  'If  there  are  no  originals,  they  will 
serve  very  well  to  commit  the  notary  whose  seal  is  on 
them,  and  yourself,  upon  a  well-founded  indictment  for 
forgery,  wilful  calumniation,  and  a  whole  list  of  crimes 
sufficient  to  send  you  to  the  galleys  for  life.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  originals  exist,  they  can  be  of  no  possible 
value  to  you,  as  you  can  send  to  Aquila  and  have  fresh 
copies  made  whenever  you  please,  as  you  yourself  in 
formed  me." 

Things  were  taking  a  bad  turn  for  Donna  Tullia.  She 
believed  the  papers  to  be  genuine,  but  a  fearful  doubt 
crossed  her  mind  that  Del  Ferice  might  possibly  have 
deceived  her  by  having  them  manufactured.  Anybody 
could  buy  Government  paper,  and  it  would  be  but  a  sim 
ple  matter  to  have  a  notary's  seal  engraved.  She  was 
terrified  at  the  idea,  but  there  was  no  possibility  of  get 
ting  the  documents  back  from  the  old  Prince,  who  held 
them  firmly  in  his  broad  brown  hand.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done  but  to  face  the  situation  out  to  the  end  and  go. 

"As  you  please,"  she  said.  "It  is  natural  that  you 
should  insult  me,  a  defenceless  woman  trying  to  do  what 
is  right.  It  is  worthy  of  your  race  and  reputation.  I  will 


374  SARACINESCA. 

leave  you  to  the  consideration  of  the  course  you  intend  to 
follow,  and  I  advise  you  to  omit  nothing  which  can  help 
to  prove  the  innocence  of  your  son." 

Donna  Tullia  bestowed  one  more  glance  of  contemp 
tuous  defiance  upon  the  group,  and  brushed  angrily  out 
of  the  room. 

"  So  much  for  her  madness  !  "  exclaimed  Giovanni,  when 
she  was  gone.  "  I  think  I  have  got  to  the  bottom  of  that 
affair." 

"  It  seems  so  simple,  and  yet  I  never  thought  of  it,"  said 
Corona.  "  How  clever  you  are,  Giovanni ! " 

"  There  was  not  much  cleverness  needed  to  see  through 
so  shallow  a  trick,"  replied  Giovanni.  "  I  suspected  it  this 
morning ;  and  when  I  saw  that  the  documents  were  genuine 
and  all  in  order,  I  was  convinced  of  it.  This  thing  has 
been  done  by  Del  Ferice,  I  suppose  in  order  to  revenge 
himself  upon  me  for  nearly  killing  him  in  fair  fight.  It 
was  a  noble  plan.  With  a  little  more  intelligence  and  a 
little  more  pains,  he  could  have  given  me  great  trouble. 
Certificates  like  those  he  produced,  if  they  had  come  from 
a  remote  French  village  in  Canada,  would  have  given  us 
occupation  for  some  time." 

"I  wish  Donna  Tullia  joy  of  her  husband,"  remarked 
the  Prince.  "  He  will  spend  her  money  in  a  year  or  two, 
and  then  leave  her  to  the  contemplation  of  his  past  extrav 
agance.  I  wonder  how  he  induced  her  to  consent." 

"  Many  people  like  Del  Ferice,"  said  Giovanni.  "  He 
is  popular,  and  has  attractions." 

"  How  can  you  say  that ! "  exclaimed  Corona,  indig 
nantly.  "  You  should  have  a  better  opinion  of  women 
than  to  think  any  woman  could  find  attractions  in  such  a 
man." 

"  Nevertheless,  Donna  Tullia  is  going  to  marry  him," 
returned  Giovanni.  "  She  must  find  him  to  her  taste.  I 
used  to  think  she  might  have  married  Valdarno — he  is  so 
good-natured  you  know  ! " 

Giovanni  spoke  in  a  tone  of  reflection  j  the  other  two 
laughed. 


SABACINESCA.  375 

"  And  now,  Giovannino,"  said  his  father,  "  we  must  set 
out  for  Aquila,  and  find  your  namesake." 

"  You  will  not  really  go  ?  "  asked  Corona,  with  a  look  of 
disappointment.  She  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  being 
separated  even  for  a  day  from  the  man  she  loved. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  we  can  do  anything  else,"  returned 
the  Prince.  "  I  must  satisfy  myself  whether  those  papers 
are  forgeries  or  not.  If  they  are,  that  woman  must  go  to 
prison  for  them." 

"But  she  is  our  cousin — you  cannot  do  that,"  objected 
Giovanni. 

"  Indeed  I  will.  I  am  angry.  Do  not  try  to  stop  me. 
Do  you  suppose  I  care  anything  for  the  relationship  in 
comparison  with  repaying  her  for  all  this  trouble  ?  You 
are  not  going  to  turn  merciful,  Giovanni  ?  I  should  not 
recognise  you." 

There  was  a  sort  of  mournful  reproach  about  the  old 
Prince's  tone,  as  though  he  were  reproving  his  son  for 
having  fallen  from  the  paths  of  virtue.  Corona  laughed; 
she  was  not  hard-hearted,  but  she  was  not  so  angelic  of 
nature  as  to  be  beyond  feeling  deep  and  lasting  resent 
ment  for  injuries  received.  At  that  moment  the  idea  of 
bringing  Donna  Tullia  to  justice  was  pleasant. 

"  Well,"  said  Giovanni,  "  no  human  being  can  boast  of 
having  ever  prevented  you  from  doing  whatever  you  were 
determined  to  do.  The  best  thing  that  can  happen  will  be, 
that  you  should  find  the  papers  genuine,  and  my  namesake 
alive.  I  wish  Aquila  were  Florence  or  Naples,"  he  added, 
turning  to  Corona ;  "  you  might  manage  to  go  at  the  same 
time." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  she  answered,  sadly.  "  How  long 
will  you  be  gone,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Giovanni  did  not  believe  that,  if  the  papers  were  genu 
ine,  and  if  they  had  to  search  for  the  man  mentioned  in 
them,  they  could  return  in  less  than  a  fortnight. 

"Why  not  send  a  detective — a  sbirro  t"  suggested 
Corona. 

"  He  could  not  accomplish  any  thing,"  replied  the  Prince. 


376  SARACINESCA. 

"  He  would  be  at  a  great  disadvantage  there ;  we  must  go 
ourselves." 

"Both?"  asked  Corona,  regretfully,  gazing  at  Gio 
vanni's  face. 

"  It  is  my  business,"  replied  the  latter.  "  I  can  hardly 
ask  my  father  to  go  alone." 

"  Absurd ! "  exclaimed  the  old  Prince,  resenting  the  idea 
that  he  needed  any  help  to  accomplish  his  mission.  "  Do 
you  think  I  need  some  one  to  take  care  of  me,  like  a  baby 
in  arms  ?  I  will  go  alone  ;  you  shall  not  come  even  if  you 
wish  it.  Absurd,  to  talk  of  my  needing  anybody  with 
me  !  I  will  show  you  what  your  father  can  do  when  his 
blood  is  up." 

Protestations  were  useless  after  that.  The  old  man 
grew  angry  at  the  opposition,  and,  regardless  of  all  pro 
priety,  seized  his  hat  and  left  the  room,  growling  that  he 
was  as  good  as  anybody,  and  a  great  deal  better. 

Corona  and  Giovanni  looked  at  each  other  when  he 
was  gone,  and  smiled. 

"  I  believe  my  father  is  the  best  man  alive,"  said  Gio 
vanni.  "  He  would  go  in  a  moment  if  I  would  let  him. 
I  will  go  after  him  and  bring  him  back — I  suppose  I 
ought." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Corona ;  but  as  they  stood 
side  by  side,  she  passed  her  hand  under  his  arm  affec 
tionately,  and  looked  into  his  eyes.  It  was  a  very  tender 
look,  very  loving  and  gentle — such  a  look  as  none  but 
Giovanni  had  ever  seen  upon  her  face.  He  put  his  arm 
about  her  waist  and  drew  her  to  him,  and  kissed  her  dark 
cheek. 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  go  away  and  leave  you,  even  for  a 
day,"  he  said,  pressing  her  to  his  side. 

"  Why  should  you  ? "  she  murmured,  looking  up  to 
him.  "Why  should  he  go,  after  all?  This  has  been 
such  a  silly  affair.  I  wonder  if  that  woman  thought  that 
anything  could  ever  come  between  you  and  me  ?  That 
was  what  made  me  think  she  was  really  mad." 

"And  an  excellent  reason,"  he  answered.     "Anybody 


SAKACINESCA.  377 

must  be  insane  who  dreams  of  parting  us  two.  It  seems 
as  though  a  year  ago  I  had  not  loved  you  at  all." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Corona.  "  Do  you  remember,  last 
summer,  on  the  tower  at  Saracinesca,  I  told  you  that  you 
did  not  know  what  love  was  ?  " 

"  It  was  true,  Corona — I  did  not  know.  But  I  thought 
I  did.  I  never  imagined  what  the  happiness  of  love  was, 
nor  how  great  it  was,  nor  how  it  could  enter  into  every 
thought." 

"Into  every  thought  ?    Into  your  great  thoughts  too  ?  " 

"If  any  thoughts  of  mine  are  great,  they  are  so  because 
you  are  the  mainspring  of  them,"  he  answered. 

"Will  it  always  be  so  ?"  she  asked.  "You  will  be  a 
very  great  man  some  day,  Giovanni ;  will  you  always  feel 
that  I  am  something  to  you  ?  " 

"  Always — more  than  anything  to  me,  more  than  all  of 
me  together." 

"I  sometimes  wonder,"  said  Corona.  "I  think  I  under 
stand  you  better  than  I  used  to  do.  I  like  to  think  that 
you  feel  how  I  understand  you  when  you  tell  me  any 
thing.  Of  course  I  am  not  clever  like  you,  but  I  love 
you  so  much  that  just  while  you  are  talking  I  seem  to 
understand  everything.  It  is  like  a  flash  of  light  in  a 
dark  room." 

Giovanni  kissed  her  again. 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  I  shall  be  great,  Corona  ? 
Nobody  ever  thinks  I  am  even  clever.  My  father  would 
laugh  at  you,  and  say  it  is  quite  enough  greatness  to  be 
born  a  Saracinesca.  What  makes  you  think  it  ?  " 

Corona  stood  up  beside  him  and  laid  her  delicate  hand 
upon  his  thick,  close-cut  black  hair,  and  gazed  into  his 
eyes. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said.  "  I  know  it,  because  I  love  you 
so.  A  man  like  you  must  be  great.  There  is  something 
in  you  that  nobody  guesses  but  I,  that  will  amaze  people 
some  day — I  know  it." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  tell  me  what  it  is  ?  I  wonder 
if  it  is  really  there  at  all  ?  "  said  Giovanni. 


378  SAKACINESCA. 

"  It  is  ambition/'  said  Corona,  gravely.  "  You  are  the 
most  ambitious  man  I  ever  knew,  and  nobody  has  found 
it  out." 

"I  believe  it  is  true,  Corona,"  said  Giovanni,  turning 
away  and  leaning  upon  the  chimneypiece,  his  head  sup 
ported  on  one  hand.  "  I  believe  you  are  right.  I  am 
ambitious  :  if  I  only  had  the  brains  that  some  men  have 
I  would  do  great  things." 

"You  are  wrong,  Giovanni.  It  is  neither  brains  nor 
ambition  nor  strength  that  you  lack — it  is  opportunity." 

"  They  say  that  a  man  who  has  anything  in  him  creates 
opportunities  for  himself,"  answered  Giovanni,  rather 
sadly.  "  I  fear  it  is  because  I  really  have  nothing  in  me 
that  I  can  do  nothing.  It  sometimes  makes  me  very 
unhappy  to  think  so.  I  suppose  that  is  because  my 
vanity  is  wounded." 

"Do  not  talk  like  that,"  said  Corona.  "You  have 
vanity,  of  course,  but  it  is  of  the  large  kind,  and  I  call  it 
ambition.  It  is  not  only  because  I  love  you  better  than 
any  man  was  ever  loved  before  that  I  say  that.  It  is  that 
I  know  it  instinctively.  I  have  heard  you  say  that  these 
are  unsettled  times.  Wait ;  your  opportunity  will  come, 
as  it  came  often  to  your  forefathers  in  other  centuries." 

"  I  hardly  think  that  their  example  is  a  good  one," 
replied  Giovanni,  with  a  smile. 

"  They  generally  did  something  remarkable  in  remark 
able  times,"  said  Corona.  "You  will  do  the  same.  Your 
father,  for  instance,  would  not." 

"He  is  far  more  clever  than  I,"  objected  Giovanni. 

"Clever!  It  passes  for  cleverness.  He  is  quick,  active, 
a  good  talker,  a  man  with  a  ready  wit  and  a  sharp  answer 
— kind-hearted  when  the  fancy  takes  him,  cruel  when  he 
is  so  disposed — but  not  a  man  of  great  convictions  or  of 
great  actions.  You  are  very  different  from  him." 

"Will  you  draw  my  portrait,  Corona  ?  "  asked  Giovanni. 

"  As  far  as  I  know  you.  You  are  a  man  quick  to  think 
and  slow  to  make  a  decision.  You  are  not  brilliant  in 
conversation — you  see  I  do  not  flatter  you;  I  am  just. 


SARACINESCA.  379 

You  have  the  very  remarkable  quality  of  growing  cold 
when  others  grow  hot,  and  of  keeping  the  full  use  of 
your  faculties  in  any  situation.  When  you  have  made  a 
decision,  you  cannot  be  moved  from  it ;  but  you  are  open 
to  conviction  in  argument.  You  have  a  great  repose  of 
manner,  which  conceals  a  very  restless  brain.  All  your 
passions  are  very  strong.  You  never  forgive,  never  forget, 
and  scarcely  ever  repent.  Beneath  all,  you  have  an  un 
tamable  ambition  which  has  not  yet  found  its  proper  field. 
Those  are  your  qualities — and  I  love  them  all,  and  you 
more  than  them  all." 

Corona  finished  her  speech  by  throwing  her  arms  round 
his  neck,  and  breaking  into  a  happy  laugh  as  she  buried 
her  face  upon  his  shoulder.  No  one  who  saw  her  in  the 
world  would  have  believed  her  capable  of  those  sudden  and 
violent  demonstrations — she  was  thought  so  very  cold. 

When  Giovanni  reached  home,  he  was  informed  that  his 
father  had  left  Koine  an  hour  earlier  by  the  train  for 
Terni,  leaving  word  that  he  had  gone  to  Aquila. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

In  those  days  the  railroad  did  not  extend  beyond  Terni 
in  the  direction  of  Aquila,  and  it  was  necessary  to  per 
form  the  journey  of  forty  miles  between  those  towns  by 
diligence.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day 
before  the  cumbrous  coach  rolled  up  to  the  door  of  the 
Locanda  del  Sole  in  Aquila,  and  Prince  Saracinesca 
found  himself  at  his  destination.  The  red  evening  sun 
gilded  the  snow  of  the  Gran  Sasso  d'ltalia,  the  huge 
domed  mountain  that  towers  above  the  city  of  Frederick. 
The  city  itself  had  long  been  in  the  shade,  and  the  spring 
air  was  sharp  and  biting.  Saracinesca  deposited  his 
slender  luggage  with  the  portly  landlord,  said  he  would 
return  for  supper  in  half  an  hour,  and  inquired  the  way 


380  SARACINESCA. 

to  the  church  of  San  Bernardino  da  Siena.  There  was 
no  difficulty  in  finding  it,  at  the  end  of  the  Corso — the 
inevitable  "Corso"  of  every  Italian  town.  The  old 
gentleman  walked  briskly  along  the  broad,  clean  street, 
and  reached  the  door  of  the  church  just  as  the  sacristan 
was  hoisting  the  heavy  leathern  curtain,  preparatory  to 
locking  up  for  the  night. 

"  Where  can  I  find  the  Padre  Curato  ?  "  inquired  the 
Prince.  The  man  looked  at  him  but  made  no  answer,  and 
proceeded  to  close  the  doors  with  great  care.  He  was  an 
old  man  in  a  shabby  cassock,  with  four  days'  beard  on 
his  face,  and  he  appeared  to  have  taken  snuff  recently. 

"  Where  is  the  Curator  ?  "  repeated  the  Prince,  pluck 
ing  him  by  the  sleeve.  But  the  man  shook  his  head,  and 
began  turning  the  ponderous  key  in  the  lock.  Two  little 
ragged  boys  were  playing  a  game  upon  the  church  steps, 
piling  five  chestnuts  in  a  heap  and  then  knocking  them 
down  with  a  small  stone.  One  of  them  having  upset  the 
heap,  desisted  and  came  near  the  Prince. 

"  That  one  is  deaf,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  sacristan. 
Then  running  behind  him  he  stood  on  tiptoe  and  screamed 
in  his  ear — "  Brutta  bestia ! " 

The  sacristan  did  not  hear,  but  caught  sight  of  the  urchin 
and  made  a  lunge  at  him.  He  missed  him,  however,  and 
nearly  fell  over. 

"  What  education ! — che  educazione  !"  cried  the  old  man, 
angrily. 

Meanwhile  the  little  boy  took  refuge  behind  Saracinesca, 
and  pulling  his  coat  asked  for  a  soldo.  The  sacristan  calmly 
withdrew  the  key  from  the  lock,  and  went  away  without 
vouchsafing  a  look  to  the  Prince. 

"  He  is  deaf,"  screamed  the  little  boy,  who  was  now 
joined  by  his  companion,  and  both  in  great  excitement 
danced  round  the  fine  gentleman. 

"  Give  me  a  soldo,"  they  yelled  together. 

"  Show  me  the  house  of  the  Padre  Curato,"  answered 
the  Prince,  "  then  I  will  give  you  each  a  soldo.  Lesti ! 
Quick ! " 


SAEACINESCA.  381 

Whereupon  both  the  boys  began  turning  cart-wheels  on 
their  feet  and  hands  with  marvellous  dexterity.  At  last 
they  subsided  into  a  natural  position,  and  led  the  way  to 
the  curate's  house,  not  twenty  yards  from  the  church,  in  a 
narrow  alley.  The  Prince  pulled  the  bell  by  the  long  chain 
which  hung  beside  the  open  street  door,  and  gave  the  boys 
the  promised  coppers.  They  did  not  leave  him,  however, 
but  stood  by  to  see  what  would  happen.  An  old  woman 
looked  out  of  an  upper  window,  and  after  surveying  the 
Prince  with  care,  called  down  to  him — 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"Is  the  Padre  Curato  at  home  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  is  at  home,"  screamed  the  old  woman. 
"  At  this  hour  !  "  she  added,  contemptuously. 

"  Ebbene — can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  What !  is  the  door  shut  ?  "  returned  the  hag. 

"  No." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  come  up  without  asking  ?  "  The 
old  woman's  head  disappeared,  and  the  window  was  shut 
with  a  clattering  noise. 

"She  is  a  woman  without  education,"  remarked  one 
of  the  ragged  boys,  making  a  face  towards  the  closed 
window. 

The  Prince  entered  the  door  and  stumbled  up  the  dark 
stairs,  and  after  some  further  palaver  obtained  admittance 
to  the  curate's  lodging.  The  curate  sat  in  a  room  which 
appeared  to  serve  as  dining-room,  living-room,  and  study. 
A  small  table  was  spread  with  a  clean  cloth,  upon  which 
were  arranged  a  plate,  a  loaf  of  bread,  a  battered  spoon,  a 
knife,  and  a  small  measure  of  thin-looking  wine.  A  brass 
lamp  with  three  wicks,  one  of  which  only  was  burning, 
shed  a  feeble  light  through  the  poor  apartment.  Against 
the  wall  stood  a  rough  table  with  an  inkstand  and  three  or 
four  mouldy  books.  Above  this  hung  a  little  black  cross 
bearing  a  brass  Christ,  and  above  this  again  a  coloured 
print  of  San  Bernardino  of  Siena.  The  walls  were  white 
washed,  and  perfectly  clean, — as  indeed  was  everything 
else  in  the  room, — and  there  was  a  sweet  smell  of  flowers 

Vol.  10—17 


382  SARACINESCA. 

from  a  huge  pot  of  pinks  which  had  been  taken  in  for 
the  night,  and  stood  upon  the  stone  sill  within  the  closed 
window. 

The  curate  was  a  tall  old  man,  with  a  singularly  gentle 
face  and  soft  brown  eyes.  He  wore  a  threadbare  cassock, 
carefully  brushed ;  and  from  beneath  his  three-cornered 
black  cap  his  thin  hair  hung  in  a  straight  grey  fringe. 
As  the  Prince  entered  the  room,  the  old  woman  called 
over  his  shoulder  to  the  priest  an  uncertain  formula  of 
introduction. 

"  Don  Paolo,  c'£  uno — there  is  one."  Then  she  retired, 
grumbling  audibly. 

The  priest  removed  his  cap,  and  bowing  politely,  offered 
one  of  the  two  chairs  to  his  visitor.  With  an  apology,  he 
replaced  his  cap  upon  his  head,  and  seated  himself  opposite 
the  Prince.  There  was  much  courteous  simplicity  in  his 
manner. 

"  In  what  way  can  I  serve  you,  Signore  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  These  papers,"  answered  the  Prince,  drawing  the  fam 
ous  envelope  from  his  breast-pocket,  "  are  copies  of  certain 
documents  in  your  keeping,  relating  to  the  supposed  mar 
riage  of  one  Giovanni  Saracinesca.  With  your  very  kind 
permission,  I  desire  to  see  the  originals." 

The  old  curate  bowed,  as  though  giving  his  assent,  and 
looked  steadily  at  his  visitor  for  a  moment  before  he 
answered. 

"There  is  nothing  simpler,  my  good  sir.  You  will 
pardon  me,  however,  if  I  venture  to  inquire  your  name, 
and  to  ask  you  for  what  purpose  you  desire  to  consult 
the  documents  ?  " 

"  I  am  Leone  Saracinesca  of  Eome " 

The  priest  started  uneasily. 

"  A  relation  of  Giovanni  Saracinesca  ?  "  he  inquired. 
Then  he  added  immediately,  "Will  you  kindly  excuse 
me  for  one  moment  ?  "  and  left  the  room  abruptly.  The 
Prince  was  considerably  astonished,  but  he  held  his  papers 
firmly  in  his  hand,  and  did  not  move  from  his  seat.  The 
curate  returned  in  a  few  seconds,  bringing  with  him  a 


SAEACINESCA.  383 

little  painted  porcelain  basket,  much,  chipped  and  the 
worse  for  age,  and  which  contained  a  collection  of  visit 
ing-cards.  There  were  not  more  than  a  score  of  them, 
turning  brown  with  accumulated  dust.  The  priest  found 
one  which  was  rather  newer  than  the  rest,  and  after  care 
fully  adjusting  a  pair  of  huge  spectacles  upon  his  nose, 
he  went  over  to  the  lamp  and  examined  it. 

"'II  Conte  del  Ferice,'"  he  read  slowly.  "Do  you 
happen  to  know  that  gentleman,  my  good  sir?"  he  in 
quired,  turning  to  the  Prince,  and  looking  keenly  at  him 
over  his  glasses. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Saracinesca,  beginning  to  under 
stand  the  situation.  "  I  know  him  very  well." 

"  Ah,  that  is  good  ! "  said  the  priest.  "  He  was  here 
two  years  ago,  and  had  those  same  entries  concerning 
Giovanni  Saracinesca  copied.  Probably — certainly,  in 
deed — the  papers  you  have  there  are  the  very  ones  he 
took  away  with  him.  When  he  came  to  see  me  about  it, 
he  gave  me  this  card." 

"  I  wonder  he  did,"  answered  Saracinesca. 

"  Indeed,"  replied  the  curate,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
"  I  remember  that  he  came  the  next  day — yes — and  asked 
to  have  his  card  returned.  But  I  could  not  find  it  for 
him.  There  was  a  hole  in  one  of  my  pockets — it  had 
slipped  down.  Carmela,  my  old  servant,  found  it  a  day 
or  two  later  in  the  lining  of  my  cassock.  I  thought  it 
strange  that  he  should  have  asked  for  it." 

"It  was  very  natural.  He  wished  you  to  forget  his 
existence." 

"He  asked  me  many  questions  about  Giovanni,"  said 
the  priest,  "  but  I  could  not  answer  him  at  that  time." 

"  You  could  answer  now  ?  "  inquired  the  Prince,  eagerly. 

"Excuse  me,  my  good  sir;  what  relation  are  you  to 
Giovanni  ?  You  say  you  are  from  Rome  ?  " 

"Let  us  understand  each  other,  Signer  Curato,"  said 
Saracinesca.  "  I  see  I  had  better  explain  the  position.  I 
am  Leone  Saracinesca,  the  prince  of  that  name,  and  the 
head  of  the  family."  The  priest  bowed  respectfully  at 


384  SARACINESCA. 

this  intelligence.  "  My  only  son  lives  with,  me  in  Rome 
— he  is  now  there — and  his  name  is  Giovanni  Saracinesca. 
He  is  engaged  to  be  married.  When  the  engagement 
became  known,  an  enemy  of  the  family  attempted  to 
prove,  by  means  of  these  papers,  that  he  was  married 
already  to  a  certain  Felice  Baldi.  Now  I  wish  to  know 
who  this  Giovanni  Saracinesca  is,  where  he  is,  and  how 
he  comes  to  have  my  son's  name.  I  wish  a  certificate  or 
some  proof  that  he  is  not  my  son, — that  he  is  alive,  or 
that  he  is  dead  and  buried." 

The  old  priest  burst  into  a  genial  laugh,  and  rubbed 
his  hands  together  in  delight. 

"My  dear  sir — your  Excellency,  I  mean — I  baptised 
Felice  Baldi's  second  baby  a  fortnight  ago !  There  is 
nothing  simpler " 

"I  knew  it!"  cried  the  Prince,  springing  from  his 
chair  in  great  excitement ;  "  I  knew  it !  Where  is  that 
baby  ?  Send  and  get  the  baby  at  once — the  mother — the 
father — everybody  ! " 

"Subito!  At  once — or  come  with  me.  I  will  show 
you  the  whole  family  together,"  said  the  curate,  in  inno 
cent  delight.  "  Splendid  children  they  are,  too.  Carmela, 
my  cloak — sbrigati,  be  quick  !  " 

"One  moment,"  objected  Saracinesca,  as  though  sud 
denly  recollecting  something.  "  One  moment,  Signor 
Curato ;  who  goes  slowly  goes  safely.  Where  does  this 
man  come  from,  and  how  does  he  come  by  his  name  ?  I 
would  like  to  know  something  about  him  before  I  see  him." 

"True,"  answered  the  priest,  resuming  his  seat.  "I 
had  forgotten.  Well,  it  is  not  a  long  story.  Giovanni 
Saracinesca  is  from  Naples.  You  know  there  was  once 
a  branch  of  your  family  in  the  Neapolitan  kingdom — at 
least  so  Giovanni  says,  and  he  is  an  honest  fellow.  Their 
title  was  Marchese  di  San  Giacinto ;  and  if  Giovanni 
liked  to  claim  it,  he  has  a  right  to  the  title  still." 

"  But  those  Saracinesca  were  extinct  fifty  years  ago," 
objected  the  Prince,  who  knew  his  family  history  very 
well. 


SARACINESCA.  385 

"  Giovanni  says  they  were  not.  They  were  believed 
to  be.  The  last  Marchese  di  San  Giacinto  fought  undes 
Napoleon.  He  lost  all  he  possessed — lands,  money,  every 
thing — by  confiscation,  when  Ferdinand  was  restored  in 
1815.  He  was  a  rough  man ;  he  dropped  his  title,  mar 
ried  a  peasant's  only  daughter,  became  a  peasant  himself, 
and  died  obscurely  in  a  village  near  Salerno.  He  left  a 
son  who  worked  on  the  farm  and  inherited  it  from  his 
mother,  married  a  woman  of  the  village  of  some  educa 
tion,  and  died  of  the  cholera,  leaving  his  son,  the  present 
Giovanni  Saracinesca.  This  Giovanni  received  a  better 
education  than  his  father  had  before  him,  improved  his 
farm,  began  to  sell  wine  and  oil  for  exportation,  travelled 
as  far  as  Aquila,  and  met  Felice  Baldi,  the  daughter  of  a 
man  of  some  wealth,  who  has  since  established  an  inn 
here.  Giovanni  loved  her.  I  married  them.  He  went 
back  to  Naples,  sold  his  farm  for  a  good  price  last  year, 
and  returned  to  Aquila.  He  manages  his  father-in-law's 
inn,  which  is  the  second  largest  here,  and  drives  a  good 
business,  having  put  his  own  capital  into  the  enterprise. 
They  have  two  children,  the  second  one  of  which  was 
born  three  weeks  ago,  and  they  are  perfectly  happy." 

Saracinesca  looked  thoughtfully  at  Don  Paolo,  the  old 
curate. 

"  Has  this  man  any  papers  to  prove  the  truth  of  this 
very  singular  story  ?  "  he  inquired  at  last. 

"Altrot  That  was  all  his  grandfather  left — a  heap  of 
parchments.  They  seem  to  be  in  order — he  showed  them 
to  me  when  I  married  him." 

"  Why  does  he  make  no  claim  to  have  the  attainder  of 
his  grandfather  reversed  ?  " 

The  curate  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  spread  out  the 
palms  of  his  hands,  smiling  incredulously. 

"The  lands,  he  says,  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  cer 
tain  patriots.  There  is  no  chance  of  getting  them  back. 
It  is  of  little  use  to  be  a  Marchese  without  property. 
What  he  possesses  is  a  modest  competence ;  it  is  wealth, 
even,  in  his  present  position.  For  a  nobleman  it  would 


386  SARACINESCA. 

be  nothing.  Besides,  he  is  half  a  peasant  by  blood  and 
tradition." 

"  He  is  not  the  only  nobleman  in  that  position,"  laughed 
Saracinesea.  "  But  are  you  aware " 

He  stopped  short.  He  was  going  to  say  that  if  he 
himself  and  his  son  both  died,  the  innkeeper  of  Aquila 
would  become  Prince  Saracinesea.  The  idea  shocked 
him,  and  he  kept  it  to  himself. 

"  After  all,"  he  continued,  "  the  man  is  of  my  blood  by 
direct  descent.  I  would  like  to  see  him." 

"Nothing  easier.  If  you  will  come  with  me,  I  will 
present  him  to  your  Excellency,"  said  the  priest.  "  Do 
you  still  wish  to  see  the  documents  ?  " 

"  It  is  useless.  The  mystery  is  solved.  Let  us  go  and 
see  this  new-found  relation  of  mine." 

Don  Paolo  wrapped  his  cloak  around  him,  and  ushering 
his  guest  from  the  room,  led  the  way  down-stairs.  He 
carried  a  bit  of  wax  taper,  which  he  held  low  to  the  steps, 
frequently  stopping  and  warning  the  Prince  to  be  care 
ful.  It  was  night  when  they  went  out.  The  air  was 
sharp  and  cold,  and  Saracinesca  buttoned  his  greatcoat  to 
his  throat  as  he  strode  by  the  side  of  the  old  priest.  The 
two  walked  on  in  silence  for  ten  minutes,  keeping  straight 
down  the  Corso  Vittorio  Emmanuele.  At  last  the  curate 
stopped  before  a  clean,  new  house,  from  the  windows  of 
which  the  bright  light  streamed  into  the  street.  Don 
Paolo  motioned  to  the  Prince  to  enter,  and  followed  him 
in.  A  man  in  a  white  apron,  with  his  arms  full  of  plates, 
who  was  probably  servant,  butler,  boots,  and  factotum  to 
the  establishment,  came  out  of  the  dining-room,  which 
was  to  the  left  of  the  entrance,  and  which,  to  judge  by 
the  noise,  seemed  to  be  full  of  people.  He  looked  at  the 
curate,  and  then  at  the  Prince. 

"Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  Don  Paolo  mto,"  he  said, 
supposing  the  priest  had  brought  a  customer — "very 
sorry ;  there  is  not  a  bed  in  the  house." 

"That  is  no  matter,  Griacchino,"  answered  the  curate. 
"  We  want  to  see  Sor  Giovanni  for  a  moment."  The  man 


SARACINESCA.  6 

disappeared,  and  a  moment  later  Sor  Giovanni  himself 
came  down  the  passage. 

"  Favorisca,  dear  Don  Paolo,  come  in."  And  he  bowed 
to  the  Prince  as  he  opened  the  door  which  led  into  a 
small  sitting-room  reserved  for  the  innkeeper's  family. 

When  they  had  entered,  Saracinesca  looked  at  his  son's 
namesake.  He  saw  before  him  a  man  whose  face  and 
figure  he  long  remembered  with  an  instinctive  dislike.  Gio 
vanni  the  innkeeper  was  of  a  powerful  build.  Two  gener 
ations  of  peasant  blood  had  given  renewed  strength  to  the 
old  race.  He  was  large,  with  large  bones,  vast  breadth  of 
shoulder,  and  massive  joints ;  lean  withal,  and  brown  of 
face,  his  high  cheek-bones  making  his  cheeks  look  hollow ; 
clean  shaved,  his  hair  straight  and  black  and  neatly 
combed  j  piercing  black  eyes  near  together,  the  heavy 
eyebrows  joining  together  in  the  midst  of  his  forehead ; 
thin  and  cruel  lips,  now  parted  in  a  smile  and  showing  a 
formidable  set  of  short,  white,  even  teeth ;  a  prominent 
square  jaw,  and  a  broad,  strong  nose,  rather  unnaturally 
pointed, — altogether  a  striking  face,  one  that  would  be 
noticed  in  a  crowd  for  its  strength,  but  strangely  cun 
ning  in  expression,  and  not  without  ferocity.  Years 
afterwards  Saracinesca  remembered  his  first  meeting 
with  Giovanni  the  innkeeper,  and  did  not  wonder  that 
his  first  impulse  had  been  to  dislike  the  man.  At  pres 
ent,  however,  he  looked  at  him  with  considerable  curi 
osity,  and  if  he  disliked  him  at  first  sight,  he  told  himself 
that  it  was  beneath  him  to  show  antipathy  for  an  inn 
keeper. 

"Sor  Giovanni,"  said  the  curate,  "this  gentleman  is 
desirous  of  making  your  acquaintance." 

Giovanni,  whose  manners  were  above  his  station,  bowed 
politely,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  his  visitor. 

"Signer  Saracinesca,"  said  the  Prince,  "I  am  Leone 
Saracinesca  of  Rome.  I  have  just  heard  of  your  existence. 
We  have  long  believed  your  family  to  be  extinct — I  am 
delighted  to  find  it  still  represented,  and  by  one  who  seems 
likely  to  perpetuate  the  name." 


388  SAKACINESCA. 

The  innkeeper  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  on  the  speaker's 
face,  and  looked  long  before  he  answered. 

"  So  you  are  Prince  Saracinesca,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"  And  you  are  the  Marchese  di  San  Giacinto,"  said  the 
Prince,  in  the  same  tone,  holding  out  his  hand  frankly. 

"  Pardon  me, — lam  Giovanni  Saracinesca,  the  innkeeper 
of  Aquila,"  returned  the  other.  But  he  took  the  Prince's 
hand.  Then  they  all  sat  down. 

"  As  you  please,"  said  the  Prince.  "  The  title  is  none 
the  less  yours.  If  you  had  signed  yourself  with  it  when 
you  married,  you  would  have  saved  me  a  vast  deal  of 
trouble ;  but  on  the  other  hand,  I  should  not  have  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  meet  you." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Giovanni. 

The  Prince  told  his  story  in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

"  Amazing !  extraordinary !  what  a  chance  ! "  ejaculated 
the  curate,  nodding  his  old  head  from  time  to  time  while 
the  Prince  spoke,  as  though  he  had  not  heard  it  all  before. 
The  innkeeper  said  nothing  until  old  Saracinesca  had 
finished. 

"  I  see  how  it  was  managed,"  he  said  at  last.  "  When 
that  gentleman  was  making  inquiries,  I  was  away.  I  had 
taken  my  wife  back  to  Salerno,  and  my  wife's  father  had 
not  yet  established  himself  in  Aquila.  Signor  Del — what 
is  his  name  ?" 

"  Del  Ferice." 

"Del  Ferice,  exactly.  He  thought  we  had  disap 
peared,  and  were  not  likely  to  come  back.  Or  else  he 
is  a  fool." 

"  He  is  not  a  fool,"  said  Saracinesca.  "  He  thought  he 
was  safe.  It  is  all  very  clear  now.  Well,  Signor  Marchese, 
or  Signor  Saracinesca,  I  am  very  glad  to  have  made  your 
acquaintance.  You  have  cleared  up  a  very  important  ques 
tion  by  returning  to  Aquila.  It  will  always  give  me  the 
greatest  pleasure  to  serve  you  in  any  way  I  can." 

"  A  thousand  thanks.  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  dur 
ing  your  stay " 

ft  You  are  very  kind.     I  will  hire  horses  and  return  to 


SARACINESCA.  38,, 

Terni  to-night.  My  business  in  Rome  is  urgent.  There 
is  some  suspense  there  in  my  absence." 

"  You  will  drink  a  glass  before  going  ? "  asked  Gio 
vanni  ;  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  strode  from 
the  room. 

"  And  what  does  your  Excellency  think  of  your  rela 
tion  ? "  asked  the  curate,  when  he  was  alone  with  the 
Prince. 

"A  terrible -look  ing  fellow!  But "  The  Prince 

made  a  face  and  a  gesture  indicating  a  question  in  regard 
to  the  innkeeper's  character. 

"  Oh,  do  not  be  afraid,"  answered  the  priest.  "  He  is 
the  most  honest  man  alive." 

"  Of  course,"  returned  the  Prince,  politely,  "  you  have 
had  many  occasions  of  ascertaining  that." 

Giovanni,  the  innkeeper,  returned  with  a  bottle  of  wine 
and  three  glasses,  which  he  placed  upon  the  table,  and 
proceeded  to  fill. 

"By  the  by,"  said  the  Prince,  "in  the  excitement  I 
forgot  to  inquire  for  your  Signora.  She  is  well,  I 
hope  ?  " 

"Thank  you  —  she  is  very  well,"  replied  Giovanni, 
shortly. 

"A  boy,  I  have  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  A  splendid  boy,"  answered  the  curate.  "  Sor  Gio 
vanni  has  a  little  girl,  too.  He  is  a  very  happy  man." 

"  Your  health,"  said  the  innkeeper,  holding  up  his  glass 
to  the  light. 

"  And  yours,"  returned  the  Prince. 

"  And  of  all  the  Saracinesca  family,"  said  the  curate, 
sipping  his  wine  slowly.  He  rarely  got  a  glass  of  old 
Lacrima,  and  he  enjoyed  it  thoroughly. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  Prince,  "  I  must  be  off.  Many 
thanks  for  your  hospitality.  I  shall  always  remember 
with  pleasure  the  day  when  I  met  an  unknown  relation." 

"  The  Albergo  di  Napoli  will  not  forget  that  Prince 
Saracinesca  has  been  its  guest,"  replied  Giovanni  politely, 
a  smile  upon  his  thin  lips.  He  shook  hands  with  both 


390  SARACINESCA. 

his  guests,  and  ushered  them  out  to  the  door  with  a  cour 
teous  bow.  Before  they  had  gone  twenty  yards  in  the 
street,  the  Prince  looked  back  and  caught  a  last  glimpse 
of  Giovanni's  towering  figure,  standing  upon  the  steps 
with  the  bright  light  falling  upon  it  from  within.  He 
remembered  that  impression  long. 

At  the  door  of  his  own  inn  he  took  leave  of  the  good 
curate  with  many  expressions  of  thanks,  and  with  many 
invitations  to  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca,  in  case  the  old  man 
ever  visited  Borne. 

"  I  have  never  seen  Eome,  your  Excellency,"  answered 
the  priest,  rather  sadly.  "  I  am  an  old  man — I  shall  ne^er 
see  it  now." 

So  they  parted,  and  the  Prince  had  a  solitary  supper  of 
pigeons  and  salad  in  the  great  dusky  hall  of  the  Locanda 
del  Sole,  while  his  horses  were  being  got  ready  for  the 
long  night-journey. 

The  meeting  and  the  whole  clearing  up  of  the  curious 
difficulty  had  produced  a  profound  impression  upon  the 
old  Prince.  He  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  but  that  the 
story  of  the  curate  was  perfectly  accurate.  It  was  all  so 
very  probable,  too.  In  the  wild  times  between  1806  and 
1815  the  last  of  the  Neapolitan  branch  of  the  Saracinesca 
had  disappeared,  and  the  rich  and  powerful  Roman 
princes  of  the  name  had  been  quite  willing  to  believe  the 
Marchesi  di  San  Giacinto  extinct.  They  had  not  even 
troubled  themselves  to  claim  the  title,  for  they  possessed 
more  than  fifty  of  their  own,  and  there  was  no  chance  of 
recovering  the  San  Giacinto  estate,  already  mortgaged, 
and  more  than  half  squandered  at  the  time  of  the  confis 
cation.  That  the  rough  soldier  of  fortune  should  have 
hidden  himself  in  his  native  country  after  the  return  of 
Ferdinand,  his  lawful  king,  against  whom  he  had  fought, 
was  natural  enough ;  as  it  was  also  natural  that,  with  his 
rough  nature,  he  should  accommodate  himself  to  a  peas 
ant's  life,  and  marry  a  peasant's  only  daughter,  with  her 
broad  acres  of  orange  and  olive  and  vine  land  ;  for  peas 
ants  in  the  far  south  were  often  rich,  and  their  daughters 


SARACINESCA.  391 

were  generally  beautiful — a  very  different  race  from  the 
starved  tenants  of  the  Roman  Campagna. 

The  Prince  decided  that  the  story  was  perfectly  true, 
and  he  reflected  somewhat  bitterly  that  unless  his  son  had 
heirs  after  him,  this  herculean  innkeeper  of  Aquila  was  the 
lawful  successor  to  his  own  title,  and  to  all  the  Saracinesca 
lands.  He  determined  that  Giovanni's  marriage  should 
not  be  delayed  another  day,  and  with  his  usual  impetu 
osity  he  hastened  back  to  Rome,  hardly  remembering  that 
he  had  spent  the  previous  night  and  all  that  day  upon  the 
road,  and  that  he  had  another  twenty-four  hours  of  travel 
before  him. 

At  dawn  his  carriage  stopped  at  a  little  town  not  far 
from  the  papal  frontier.  Just  as  the  vehicle  was  starting, 
a  large  man,  muffled  in  a  huge  cloak,  from  the  folds  of 
which  protruded  the  long  brown  barrel  of  a  rifle,  put  his 
head  into  the  window.  The  Prince  started  and  grasped 
his  revolver,  which  lay  beside  him  on  the  seat. 

"  Good  morning,  Prince,"  said  the  man.  "  I  hope  you 
have  slept  well." 

"  Sor  Giovanni ! "  exclaimed  the  old  gentleman.  "  Where 
did  you  drop  from  ?  " 

"  The  roads  are  not  very  safe,"  returned  the  innkeeper. 
"  So  I  thought  it  best  to  accompany  you.  Good-bye — 
buon  viaggio  !  " 

Before  the  Prince  could  answer,  the  carriage  rolled  off, 
the  horses  springing  forward  at  a  gallop.  Saracinesca 
put  his  head  out  of  the  window,  but  his  namesake  had 
disappeared,  and  he  rolled  on  towards  Terni,  wondering 
at  the  innkeeper's  anxiety  for  his  safety. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Even  old  Saracinesca's  iron  strength  was  in  need  of  rest 
when,  at  the  end  of  forty-eight  hours,  he  again  entered 
his  son's  rooms,  and  threw  himself  upon  the  great  divan. 

"  How  is  Corona  ?  "  was  his  first  question. 


392  SARACINESCA. 

"  She  is  very  anxious  about  you,"  returned  Giovanni, 
who  was  himself  considerably  disturbed. 

"  We  will  go  and  set  her  mind  at  rest  as  soon  as  I  have 
had  something  to  eat/'  said  his  father. 

"It  is  all  right,  then  ?  It  was  just  as  I  said — a  name 
sake  ?  " 

"  Precisely.  Only  the  namesake  happens  to  be  a  cousin 
— the  last  of  the  San  Giacinto,  who  keeps  an  inn  in  Aquila. 
I  saw  him,  and  shook  hands  with  him." 

"  Impossible  ! "  exclaimed  Giovanni.  "  They  are  all 
extinct " 

"  There  has  been  a  resurrection,"  returned  the  Prince. 
He  told  the  whole  story  of  his  journey,  graphically  and 
quickly. 

"  That  is  a  very  extraordinary  tale,"  remarked  Giovanni, 
thoughtfully.  "So,  if  I  die  without  children  the  inn 
keeper  will  be  prince." 

"  Precisely.  And  now,  Giovanni,  you  must  be  married 
next  week." 

"  As  soon  as  you  please — to-morrow  if  you  like." 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  Del  Ferice  ?  "  asked  the  old 
prince. 

"Ask  him  to  the  wedding,"  answered  Giovanni,  mag 
nanimously. 

"  The  wedding  will  have  to  be  a  very  quiet  one,  I  sup 
pose,"  remarked  his  father,  thoughtfully.  "  The  year  is 
hardly  over " 

"  The  more  quiet  the  better,  provided  it  is  done  quickly. 
Of  course  we  must  consult  Corona  at  once." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  fix  the  wedding-day 
without  consulting  her?"  asked  the  old  man.  "For 
heaven's  sake  order  dinner,  and  let  us  be  quick  about  it." 

The  Prince  was  evidently  in  a  hurry,  and  moreover,  he 
was  tired  and  very  hungry.  An  hour  later,  as  both  the 
men  sat  over  the  coffee  in  the  dining-room,  his  mood  was 
mellower.  A  dinner  at  home  has  a  wonderful  effect  upon 
the  temper  of  a  man  who  has  travelled  and  fared  badly 
for  eight-and-forty  hours.  , 


SARACINESCA.  393 

" Giovannino,"  said  old  Saracinesca,  "have  you  any 
idea  what  the  Cardinal  thinks  of  your  marriage  ?  " 

"No;  and  I  do  not  care,"  answered  the  younger  man. 
"  He  once  advised  me  not  to  marry  Donna  Tullia.  He 
has  not  seen  me  often  since  then." 

"I  have  an  idea  that  it  will  please  him  immensely," 
said  the  Prince. 

"  It  would  be  very  much  the  same  if  it  displeased  him." 

"Very  much  the  same.  Have  you  seen  Corona  to 
day  ?  " 

"Yes — of  course,"  answered  Giovanni. 

"What  is  the  use  of  my  going  with  you  this  even 
ing?"  asked  his  father,  suddenly.  "I  should  think  you 
could  manage  your  own  affairs  without  my  help." 

"  I  thought  that  as  you  have  taken  so  much  trouble, 
you  would  enjoy  telling  her  the  story  yourself." 

"Do  you  think  I  am  a  vain  fool,  sir,  to  be  amused  by 
a  woman's  praise  ?  Nonsense  !  Go  yourself." 

"  By  all  means,"  answered  Giovanni.  He  was  used  to 
his  father's  habit  of  being  quarrelsome  over  trifles,  and 
he  was  much  too  happy  to  take  any  notice  of  it  now. 

"  You  are  tired,"  he  continued.  "  I  am  sure  you  have 
a  right  to  be.  You  must  want  to  go  to  bed." 

"To  bed  indeed!"  growled  the  old  man.  " Tired! 
You  think  I  am  good  for  nothing;  I  know  you  do. 
You  look  upon  me  as  a  doting  old  cripple.  I  tell  you, 
boy,  I  can " 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  padre  mio,  do  precisely  as  you  are 
inclined.  I  never  said—: — " 

"  Never  said  what  ?  Why  are  you  always  quarrelling 
with  me  ?  "  roared  his  father,  who  had  not  lost  his  tem 
per  for  two  days,  and  missed  his  favourite  exercise. 

"  What  day  shall  we  fix  upon  ?  "  asked  Giovanni,  un 
moved. 

"Day!  Any  day.  What  do  I  care?  Oh!  — well, 
since  you  speak  of  it,  you  might  say  a  week  from  Sunday. 
To-day  is  Friday.  But  I  do  not  care  in  the  least." 

"  Very  well — if  Corona  can  get  ready." 


394  SAEACINESCA. 

"  She  shall  be  ready — she  must  be  ready  ! "  answered 
the  old  gentleman,  in  a  tone  of  conviction.  "Why 
should  she  not  be  ready,  I  would  like  to  know  ?  " 

"No  reason  whatever,"  said  Giovanni,  with  unusual 
mildness. 

"Of  course  not.  There  is  never  any  reason  in  any 
thing  you  say,  you  unreasonable  boy." 

"Never,  of  course."  Giovanni  rose  to  go,  biting  his 
lips  to  keep  down  a  laugh. 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  always  agreeing  with 
me,  you  impertinent  scapegrace  ?  And  you  are  laughing, 
too — laughing  at  me,  sir,  as  I  live !  Upon  my  word !  " 

Giovanni  turned  his  back  and  lighted  a  cigar.  Then, 
without  looking  round,  he  walked  towards  the  door. 

"  Giovannino,"  called  the  Prince. 

"Well?" 

"I  feel  better  now.  I  wanted  to  abuse  somebody. 
Look  here — wait  a  moment."  He  rose  quickly,  and  left 
the  room. 

Giovanni  sat  down  and  smoked  rather  impatiently, 
looking  at  his  watch  from  time  to  time.  In  five  minutes 
his  father  returned,  bringing  in  his  hand  an  old  red 
morocco  case. 

"Give  it  to  her  with  my  compliments,  my  boy,"  he 
said.  "  They  are  some  of  your  mother's  diamonds — just 
a  few  of  them.  She  shall  have  the  rest  on  the  wedding- 
day." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Giovanni,  and  pressed  his  father's 
hand. 

"  And  give  her  my  love,  and  say  I  will  call  to-morrow 
at  two  o'clock,"  added  the  Prince,  now  perfectly  serene. 

With  the  diamonds  under  his  arm,  Giovanni  went  out. 
The  sky  was  clear  and  frosty,  and  the  stars  shone 
brightly,  high  up  between  the  tall  houses  of  the  narrow 
street.  Giovanni  had  not  ordered  a  carriage,  and  seeing 
how  fine  the  night  was,  he  decided  to  walk  to  his  desti 
nation.  It  was  not  eight  o'clock,  and  Corona  would  have 
scarcely  finished  dinner  at  that  hour.  He  walked 


SARACINESCA.  395 

slowly.  As  he  emerged  into  the  Piazza  di  Venezia  some 
one  overtook  him. 

"  Good  evening,  Prince/'  Giovanni  turned,  and  recog 
nised  Anastase  Gouache,  the  Zouave. 

"  Ah,  Gouache — how  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  pay  you  a  visit,"  answered  the  French 
man. 

"I  am  very  sorry — I  have  just  left  home,"  returned 
Giovanni,  in  some  surprise. 

"Not  at  your  house,"  continued  Anastase.  "  My  com 
pany  is  ordered  to  the  mountains.  We  leave  to-morrow 
morning  for  Subiaco,  and  some  of  us  are  to  be  quartered 
at  Saracinesca." 

"I  hope  you  will  be  among  the  number,"  said  Gio 
vanni.  "I  shall  probably  be  married  next  week,  and  the 
Duchessa  wishes  to  go  at  once  to  the  mountains.  We 
shall  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

"Thank  you  very  much.  I  will  not  fail  to  do  myself 
the  honour.  My  homage  to  Madame  la  Duchesse.  I 
must  turn  here.  Good  night." 

"  Au  revoir,"  said  Giovanni,  and  went  on  his  way. 

He  found  Corona  in  an  inner  sitting-room,  reading  be 
side  a  great  wood-fire.  There  were  soft  shades  of  lilac 
mingled  with  the  black  of  her  dress.  The  year  of  mourn 
ing  was  past,  and  so  soon  as  she  could  she  modified  her 
widow's  weeds  into  something  less  solemnly  black.  It 
was  impossible  to  wear  funeral  robes  on  the  eve  of  her 
second  marriage  ;  and  the  world  had  declared  that  she  had 
shown  an  extraordinary  degree  of  virtue  in  mourning  so 
long  for  a  death  which  every  one  considered  so  highly  ap 
propriate.  Corona,  however,  felt  differently.  To  her,  her 
dead  husband  and  the  man  she  now  so  wholly  loved  be 
longed  to  two  totally  distinct  classes  of  men.  Her  love, 
her  marriage  with  Giovanni,  seemed  so  natural  a  conse 
quence  of  her  being  left  alone — so  absolutely  removed 
from  her  former  life — that,  on  the  eve  of  her  wedding, 
she  could  almost  wish  that  poor  old  Astrardente  were  alive 
to  look  as  her  friend  upon  her  new-found  happiness. 


396  SAKACINESCA. 

She  welcomed  Giovanni  with  a  bright  smile.  She  had 
not  expected  him  that  evening,  for  he  had  been  with  her 
all  the  afternoon.  She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  came  quickly 
to  meet  him.  She  almost  unconsciously  took  the  morocco 
case  from  his  hands,  not  looking  at  it,  and  hardly  noticing 
what  she  did. 

"  My  father  has  come  back.  It  is  all  settled  !  "  cried 
Giovanni. 

"  So  soon !  He  must  have  flown ! "  said  she,  making 
him  sit  down. 

"  Yes,  he  has  never  rested,  and  he  has  found  out  all 
about  it.  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  story.  By  the  by, 
he  sends  you  affectionate  messages,  and  begs  you  to  ac 
cept  these  diamonds.  They  were  my  mother's,"  he  added, 
his  voice  softening  and  changing.  Corona  understood  his 
tone,  and  perhaps  realised,  too,  how  very  short  the  time 
now  was.  She  opened  the  case  carefully. 

"  They  are  very  beautiful ;  your  mother  wore  them, 
Giovanni  ?  "  She  looked  lovingly  at  him,  and  then  bend 
ing  down  kissed  the  splendid  coronet  as  though  in  rever 
ence  of  the  dead  Spanish  woman  who  had  borne  the  man 
she  loved.  Whereat  Giovanni  stole  to  her  side,  and  kissed 
her  own  dark  hair  very  tenderly. 

"  I  was  to  tell  you  that  there  are  a  great  many  more," 
he  said,  "  which  my  father  will  offer  you  on  the  wedding- 
day."  Then  he  kneeled  down  beside  her,  and  raising  the 
crown  from  its  case,  set  it  with  both  his  hands  upon  her 
diadem  of  braids. 

"  My  princess  ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  How  beautiful  you 
are  ! "  He  took  the  great  necklace,  and  clasped  it  about 
her  white  throat.  "  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  you  have  such 
splendid  jewels  of  your  own,  perhaps  you  hardly  care  for 
these  and  the  rest.  But  I  like  to  see  you  with  them — it 
makes  me  feel  that  you  are  really  mine." 

Corona  smiled  happily,  and  gently  took  the  coronet  from 
her  head,  returning  it  to  its  case.  She  let  the  necklace 
remain  about  her  throat. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  about  your  father's  discovery," 
she  said,  suddenly. 


SARACINESCA.  397 

"Yes— I  will  tell  you." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  communicated  to  her  the  details 
of  the  journey.  She  listened  with  profound  interest. 

" It  is  very  strange,"  she  said.  "And  yet  it  is  so  very 
natural." 

"  You  see  it  is  all  Del  Fence's  doing,"  said  Giovanni. 
"  I  suppose  it  was  really  an  accident  in  the  first  place ;  but 
he  managed  to  make  a  great  deal  of  it.  It  is  certainly 
very  amusing  to  find  that  the  last  of  the  other  branch  is 
an  innkeeper  in  the  Abruzzi.  However,  I  daresay  we 
shall  never  hear  of  him  again.  He  does  not  seem  inclined 
to  claim  his  title.  Corona  mia,  I  have  something  much 
more  serious  to  say  to  you  to-night." 

"What  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  turning  her  great  dark  eyes 
rather  wonderingly  to  his  face. 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  be  married, 
now " 

"  Do  you  think  I  ever  believed  there  was  ?  "  she  asked, 
reproachfully. 

"  No,  dear.  Only — would  you  mind  its  being  very 
soon  ?  " 

The  dark  blood  rose  slowly  to  her  cheek,  but  she 
answered  without  any  hesitation.  She  was  too  proud  to 
hesitate. 

"  Whenever  you  please,  Giovanni.  Only  it  must  be  very 
quiet,  and  we  will  go  straight  to  Saracinesca.  If  you  agree 
to  those  two  things,  it  shall  be  as  soon  as  you  please." 

"  Next  week  ?  A  week  from  Sunday  ?  "  asked  Giovanni, 
eagerly. 

"Yes — a  week  from  Sunday.  I  would  rather  not  go 
through  the  ordeal  of  a  long  engagement.  I  cannot  bear 
to  have  every  one  here,  congratulating  me  from  morning 
till  night,  as  they  insist  upon  doing." 

"  I  will  send  the  people  out  to  Saracinesca  to-morrow," 
said  Giovanni,  in  great  delight.  "They  have  been  at 
work  all  winter,  making  the  place  respectable." 

"  Not  changing,  I  hope  ?  "  exclaimed  Corona,  who  dearly 
loved  the  old  grey  walls. 


398  SABACINESCA. 

"  Only  repairing  the  state  apartments.  By  the  by,  I 
met  Gouache  this  evening.  He  is  going  out  with  a  com 
pany  of  Zouaves  to  hunt  the  brigands,  if  there  really  are 
any." 

"  I  hope  he  will  not  come  near  us,"  answered  Corona. 
"  I  want  to  be  all  alone  with  you,  Giovanni,  for  ever  so 
long.  Would  you  not  rather  be  alone  for  a  little  while  ?  " 
she  asked,  looking  up  suddenly  with  a  timid  smile. 
"  Should  I  bore  you  very  much  ?  " 

It  is  unnecessary  to  record  Giovanni's  answer.  If 
Corona  longed  to  be  alone  with  him  in  the  hills,  Gio 
vanni  himself  desired  such  a  retreat  still  more.  To  be 
out  of  the  world,  even  for  a  month,  seemed  to  him  the 
most  delightful  of  prospects,  for  he  was  weary  of  the 
city,  of  society,  of  eveything  save  the  woman  he  was 
about  to  marry.  Of  her  he  could  never  tire ;  he  could 
not  imagine  that  in  her  company  the  days  would  ever 
seem  long,  even  in  old  Saracinesca,  among  the  grey  rocks 
of  the  Sabines.  The  average  man  is  gregarious,  perhaps ; 
but  in  strong  minds  there  is  often  a  great  desire  for 
solitude,  or  at  least  for  retirement,  in  the  society  of  one 
sympathetic  soul.  The  instinct  which  bids  such  people 
leave  the  world  for  a  time  is  never  permanent,  unless 
they  become  morbid.  It  is  a  natural  feeling ;  and  a 
strong  brain  gathers  strength  from  communing  with  itself 
or  with  its  natural  mate.  There  are  few  great  men  who 
have  not  at  one  time  or  another  withdrawn  into  solitude, 
and  their  retreat  has  generally  been  succeeded  by  a  period 
of  extraordinary  activity.  Strong  minds  are  often,  at 
some  time  or  another,  exposed  to  doubt  and  uncertainty 
incomprehensible  to  a  smaller  intellect — due,  indeed,  to 
that  very  breadth  of  view  which  contemplates  the  same 
idea  from  a  vast  number  of  sides.  To  a  man  so  endowed, 
the  casting-vote  of  some  one  whom  he  loves,  and  with 
whom  he  almost  unconsciously  sympathises,  is  some 
times  necessary  to  produce  action,  to  direct  the  faculties, 
to  guide  the  overflowing  flood  of  his  thought  into  the 
mill-race  of  life's  work.  Without  a  certain  amount  of 


SARACINESCA.  399 

prejudice  to  determine  the  resultant  of  its  forces,  many  a 
fine  intellect  would  expend  its  power  in  burrowing  among 
its  own  labyrinths,  unrecognised,  misunderstood,  unheard 
by  the  working-day  world  without.  For  the  working-day 
world  never  lacks  prejudice  to  direct  its  working. 

For  some  time  Giovanni  and  Corona  talked  of  their 
plans  for  the  spring  and  summer.  They  would  read, 
they  would  work  together  at  the  schemes  for  uniting 
and  improving  their  estates ;  they  would  build  that  new 
road  from  Astrardente  to  Saracinesca,  concerning  which 
there  had  been  so  much  discussion  during  the  last  year ; 
they  would  visit  every  part  of  their  lands  together,  and 
inquire  into  the  condition  of  every  peasant ;  they  would 
especially  devote  their  attention  to  extending  the  forest 
enclosures,  in  which  Giovanni  foresaw  a  source  of  wealth 
for  his  children;  above  all,  they  would  talk  to  their 
hearts'  content,  and  feel,  as  each  day  dawned  upon  their 
happiness,  that  they  were  free  to  go  where  they  would, 
without  being  confronted  at  every  turn  by  the  trouble 
some  duties  of  an  exigent  society. 

At  last  the  conversation  turned  again  upon  recent 
events,  and  especially  upon  the  part  Del  Ferice  and 
Donna  Tullia  had  played  in  attempting  to  prevent  the 
marriage.  Corona  asked  what  Giovanni  intended  to  do 
about  the  matter. 

"I  do  not  see  that  there  is  much  to  be  done,"  he 
answered.  "I  will  go  to  Donna  Tullia  to-morrow,  and 
explain  that  there  has  been  a  curious  mistake — that  I  am 
exceedingly  obliged  to  her  for  calling  my  attention  to  the 
existence  of  a  distant  relative,  but  that  I  trust  she  will 
not  in  future  interfere  in  my  affairs." 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  marry  Del  Ferice  after  all  ?  " 
asked  Corona. 

"  Why  not  ?  Of  course  he  gave  her  the  papers.  Very 
possibly  he  thought  they  really  proved  my  former  mar 
riage.  She  will  perhaps  blame  him  for  her  failure,  but 
he  will  defend  himself,  never  fear  j  he  will  make  her 
marry  him." 


400  SABACINESCA. 

"  I  wish  they  would  marry  and  go  away,"  said  Corona, 
to  whom  the  very  name  of  Del  Ferice  was  abhorrent,  and 
who  detested  Donna  Tullia  almost  as  heartily.  Corona 
was  a,  very  good  and  noble  woman,  but  she  was  very  far 
from  that  saintly  superiority  which  forgets  to  resent 
injuries.  Her  passions  were  eminently  human,  and  very 
strong.  She  had  struggled  bravely  against  her  over 
whelming  love  for  Giovanni ;  and  she  had  so  far  got  the 
mastery  of  herself,  that  she  would  have  endured  to  the 
end  if  her  husband's  death  had  not  set  her  at  liberty. 
Perhaps,  too,  while  she  felt  the  necessity  of  fighting 
against  that  love,  she  attained  for  a  time  to  an  elevation 
of  character  which  would  have  made  such  personal  inju 
ries  as  Donna  Tullia  could  inflict  seem  insignificant  in 
comparison  with  the  great  struggle  she  sustained  against 
an  even  greater  evil.  But  in  the  realisation  of  her  free 
dom,  in  suddenly  giving  the  rein  to  her  nature,  so  long 
controlled  by  her  resolute  will,  all  passion  seemed  to 
break  out  at  once  with  renewed  force ;  and  the  conviction 
that  her  anger  against  her  two  enemies  was  perfectly 
just  and  righteous,  added  fuel  to  the  fire.  Her  eyes 
gleamed  fiercely  as  she  spoke  of  Del  Ferice  and  his  bride, 
and  no  punishment  seemed  too  severe  for  those  who  had 
so  treacherously  tried  to  dash  the  cup  of  her  happiness 
from  her  very  lips. 

"  I  wish  they  would  marry,"  she  repeated,  "  and  I  wish 
the  Cardinal  would  turn  them  out  of  Borne  the  next  day." 

"  That  might  be  done,"  said  Giovanni,  who  had  himself 
revolved  more  than  one  scheme  of  vengeance  against  the 
evil-doers.  "  The  trouble  is,  that  the  Cardinal  despises  Del 
Ferice  and  his  political  dilettanteism.  He  does  not  care 
a  fig  whether  the  fellow  remains  in  Eome  or  goes  away. 
I  confess  it  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  wring  the 
villain's  neck." 

"  You  must  not  fight  him  again,  Giovanni,"  said  Corona, 
in  sudden  alarm.  "  You  must  not  risk  your  life  now — you 
know  it  is  mine  now."  She  laid  her  hand  tenderly  on  his, 
and  it  trembled. 


SARACINESCA.  401 

"  No,  dearest — I  certainly  will  not.  But  my  father  is 
very  angry.  I  think  we  may  safely  leave  the  treatment  of 
Del  Fence  in  his  hands.  My  father  is  a  very  sudden  and 
violent  man." 

"  I  know/'  replied  Corona.  "  He  is  magnificent  when 
he  is  angry.  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  settle  Del  Ferice's 
affairs  satisfactorily."  She  laughed  almost  fiercely.  Gio 
vanni  looked  at  her  anxiously,  yet  not  without  pride,  as 
he  recognised  in  her  strong  anger  something  akin  to 
himself. 

"  How  fierce  you  are  ! "  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Have  I  not  cause  to  be  ?  Have  I  not  cause  to  wish 
these  people  an  evil  end  ?  Have  they  not  nearly  separated 
us  ?  Nothing  is  bad  enough  for  them — what  is  the  use  of 
pretending  not  to  feel  ?  You  are  calm,  Giovanni  ?  Per 
haps  you  are  much  stronger  than  I  am.  I  do  not  think 
you  realise  what  they  meant  to  do — to  separate  us — us! 
As  if  any  torture  were  bad  enough  for  them  ! " 

Giovanni  had  never  seen  her  so  thoroughly  roused.  He 
was  angry  himself,  and  more  than  angry,  for  his  cheek 
paled,  and  his  stern  features  grew  more  hard,  while  his 
voice  dropped  to  a  hoarser  tone. 

"  Do  not  mistake  me,  Corona,"  he  said.  "  Do  not  think 
I  am  indifferent  because  I  am  quiet.  Del  Ferice  shall 
expiate  all  some  day,  and  bitterly  too." 

"Indeed  I  hope  so,"  answered  Corona  between  her 
teeth.  Had  Giovanni  foreseen  the  long  and  bitter  struggle 
he  would  one  day  have  to  endure  before  that  expiation  was 
complete,  he  would  very  likely  have  renounced  his  ven 
geance  then  and  there,  for  his  wife's  sake.  But  we  mortals 
see  but  in  a  glass  j  and  when  the  mirror  is  darkened  by 
the  master-passion  of  hate,  we  see  not  at  all.  Corona  and 
Giovanni,  united,  rich  and  powerful,  might  indeed  appear 
formidable  to  a  wretch  like  Del  Ferice,  dependent  upon  a 
system  of  daily  treachery  for  the  very  bread  he  ate.  But 
in  those  days  the  wheel  of  fortune  was  beginning  to  turn, 
and  far-sighted  men  prophesied  that  many  an  obscure  in 
dividual  would  one  day  be  playing  the  part  of  a  great 


402  SAEACINESCA. 

personage.  Years  would  still  elapse  before  the  change, 
but  the  change  would  surely  come  at  last. 

Giovanni  was  very  thoughtful  as  he  walked  home  that 
night.  He  was  happy,  and  he  had  cause  to  be,  for  the 
long-desired  day  was  at  hand.  He  had  nearly  attained 
the  object  of  his  life,  and  there  was  now  no  longer  any 
obstacle  to  be  overcome.  The  relief  he  felt  at  his  father's 
return  was  very  great ;  for  although  he  had  known  that 
the  impediment  raised  would  be  soon  removed,  any  im 
pediment  whatever  was  exasperating,  and  he  could  not 
calculate  the  trouble  that  might  be  caused  by  the  further 
machinations  of  Donna  Tullia  and  her  affianced  husband. 
All  difficulties  had,  however,  been  overcome  by  his  father's 
energetic  action,  and  at  once  Giovanni  felt  as  though  a 
load  had  fallen  from  his  shoulders,  and  a  veil  from  his 
eyes.  He  saw  himself  wedded  to  Corona  in  less  than  a 
fortnight,  removed  from  the  sphere  of  society  and  of  all 
his  troubles,  living  for  a  space  alone  with  her  in  his  an 
cestral  home,  calling  her,  at  last,  his  wife.  Nevertheless 
he  was  thoughtful,  and  his  expression  was  not  one  of  un- 
mingled  gladness,  as  he  threaded  the  streets  on  his  way 
home  ;  for  his  mind  reverted  to  Del  Ferice  and  to  Donna 
Tullia,  and  Corona's  fierce  look  was  still  before  him.  He 
reflected  that  she  had  been  nearly  as  much  injured  as  him 
self,  that  her  wrath  was  legitimate,  and  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  visit  her  sufferings  as  well  as  his  own  upon  the 
offenders.  His  melancholic  nature  easily  fell  to  brooding 
over  any  evil  which  was  strong  enough  to  break  the  barrier 
of  his  indifference ;  and  the  annoyances  which  had  sprung 
originally  from  so  small  a  cause  had  grown  to  gigantic 
proportions,  and  had  struck  at  the  very  roots  of  his 
happiness. 

He  had  begun  by  disliking  Del  Ferice  in  an  indifferent 
way  whenever  he  chanced  to  cross  his  path.  Del  Ferice 
had  resented  this  haughty  indifference  as  a  personal  insult, 
and  had  set  about  injuring  Giovanni,  attempting  to  thwart 
him  whenever  he  could.  Giovanni  had  caught  Del  Ferice 
in  a  dastardly  trick,  and  had  been  so  far  roused  as  to  take 


SARACINESCA.  403 

summary  vengeance  upon  him  in  the  duel  which  took 
place  after  the  Frangipani  ball.  The  wound  had  entered 
into  Ugo's  soul,  and  his  hatred  had  grown  the  faster  that 
he  found  no  opportunity  of  revenge.  Then,  at  last,  when 
Giovanni's  happiness  had  seemed  complete,  his  enemy  had 
put  forward  his  pretended  proof  of  a  former  marriage ; 
knowing  well  enough  that  his  weapons  were  not  invincible 
— were  indeed  very  weak — but  unable  to  resist  any  longer 
the  desire  for  vengeance.  Once  more  Giovanni  had  tri 
umphed  easily,  but  with  victory  came  the  feeling  that  it 
was  his  turn  to  punish  his  adversary.  And  now  there 
was  a  new  and  powerful  motive  added  to  Giovanni's  just 
resentment,  in  the  anger  his  future  wife  felt,  and  had  a 
good  right  to  feel,  at  the  treachery  which  had  been  prac 
tised  upon  both.  It  had  taken  two  years  to  rouse  Gio 
vanni  to  energetic  action  against  one  whom  he  had  in 
turn  regarded  with  indifference,  then  despised,  then  hon 
estly  disliked,  and  finally  hated.  But  his  hatred  had 
been  doubled  each  time  by  a  greater  injury,  and  was  not 
likely  to  be  easily  satisfied.  Nothing  short  of  Del 
Ferice's  destruction  would  be  enough,  and  his  destruc 
tion  must  be  brought  about  by  legal  means. 

Giovanni  had  not  far  to  seek  for  his  weapons.  He 
had  long  suspected  Del  Ferice  of  treasonable  practices ; 
he  did  not  doubt  that  with  small  exertion  he  could  find 
evidence  to  convict  him.  He  would,  then,  allow  him  to 
marry  Donna  Tullia;  and  on  the  day  after  the  wedding, 
Del  Ferice  should  be  arrested  and  lodged  in  the  prison 
of  the  Holy  Office  as  a  political  delinquent  of  the  mean 
est  and  most  dangerous  kind — as  a  political  spy.  The 
determination  was  soon  reached.  It  did  not  seem  cruel 
to  Giovanni,  for  he  was  in  a  relentless  mood ;  it  would 
not  have  seemed  cruel  to  Corona, — Del  Ferice  had  de 
served  all  that,  and  more  also. 

So  Giovanni  went  home  and  slept  the  sleep  of  a  man 
who  has  made  up  his  mind  upon  an  important  matter. 
And  in  the  morning  he  rose  early  and  communicated  his 
ideas  to  his  father.  The  result  was  that  they  determined 


404  SAKACINESCA. 

for  the  present  to  avoid  an  interview  with  Donna  Tullia, 
and  to  communicate  to  her  by  letter  the  result  of  old 
Saracinesca's  rapid  journey  to  Aquila. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

When  Donna  Tullia  received  Saracinesca's  note,  ex 
plaining  the  existence  of  a  second  Giovanni,  his  pedigree 
and  present  circumstances,  she  almost  fainted  with  dis 
appointment.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  compromised 
herself  before  the  world,  that  all  Koine  knew  the  ridicu 
lous  part  she  had  played  in  Del  Ferice's  comedy,  and 
that  her  shame  would  never  be  forgotten.  Suddenly  she 
saw  how  she  had  been  led  away  by  her  hatred  of  Gio 
vanni  into  believing  blindly  in  a  foolish  tale  which 
ought  not  to  have  deceived  a  child.  So  soon  as  she 
learned  the  existence  of  a  second  Giovanni  Saracinesca, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  must  have  been  mad  not  to 
foresee  such  an  explanation  from  the  first.  She  had 
been  duped,  she  had  been  made  a  cat's-paw,  she  had  been 
abominably  deceived  by  Del  Ferice,  who  had  made  use 
of  this  worthless  bribe  in  order  to  extort  from  her  a 
promise  of  marriage.  She  felt  very  ill,  as  very  vain  peo 
ple  often  do  when  they  feel  that  they  have  been  made 
ridiculous.  She  lay  upon  the  sofa  in  her  little  boudoir, 
where  everything  was  in  the  worst  possible  taste — from  the 
gaudy  velvet  carpet  and  satin  furniture  to  the  gilt  clock 
on  the  chimney-piece — and  she  turned  red  and  pale  and 
red  again,  and  wished  she  were  dead,  or  in  Paris,  or  any 
where  save  in  Rome.  If  she  went  out  she  might  meet 
one  of  the  Saracinesca  at  any  turn  of  the  street,  or  even 
Corona  herself.  How  they  would  bow  and  smile  sweetly 
at  her,  enjoying  her  discomfiture  with  the  polite  supe 
riority  of  people  who  cannot  be  hurt ! 

And  she  herself — she  could  not  tell  what  she  should 


SAKACINESCA.  405 

do.  She  had  announced  her  engagement  to  Del  Ferice, 
but  she  could  not  marry  him.  She  had  been  entrapped 
into  making  him  a  promise,  into  swearing  a  terrible  oath ; 
but  the  Church  did  not  consider  such  oaths  binding.  She 
would  go  to  Padre  Filippo  and  ask  his  advice. 

But  then,  if  she  went  to  Padre  Filippo,  she  would  have 
to  confess  all  she  had  done,  and  she  was  not  prepared  to 
do  that.  A  few  weeks  would  pass,  and  that  time  would 
be  sufficient  to  mellow  and  smooth  the  remembrance  of 
her  revengeful  projects  into  a  less  questionable  shape. 
!No — she  could  not  confess  all  that  just  yet.  Surely 
such  an  oath  was  not  binding;  at  all  events,  she  could 
not  marry  Del  Ferice,  whether  she  broke  her  promise  or 
not.  In  the  first  place,  she  would  send  for  him  and  vent 
her  anger  upon  him  while  it  was  hot. 

Accordingly,  in  the  space  of  three-quarters  of  an  hour, 
Ugo  appeared,  smiling,  smooth  and  persuasive  as  usual. 
Donna  Tullia  assumed  a  fine  attitude  of  disdain  as  she 
heard  his  step  outside  the  door.  She  intended  to  impress 
him  with  a  full  and  sudden  view  of  her  just  anger.  He 
did  not  seem  much  moved,  and  came  forward  as  usual  to 
take  her  hand  and  kiss  it.  But  she  folded  her  arms  and 
stared  at  him  with  all  the  contempt  she  could  concentrate 
in  the  gaze  of  her  blue  eyes.  It  was  a  good  comedy. 
Del  Ferice,  who  had  noticed  as  soon  as  he  entered  the 
room  that  something  was  wrong,  and  had  already  half 
guessed  the  cause,  affected  to  spring  back  in  horror  when 
she  refused  to  give  her  hand.  His  pale  face  expressed 
sufficiently  well  a  mixture  of  indignation  and  sorrow  at 
the  harsh  treatment  he  received.  Still  Donna  Tullia's 
cold  eye  rested  upon  him  in  a  fixed  stare. 

•'<  What  is  this  ?  What  have  I  done  ?  "  asked  Del 
Ferice  in  low  tones. 

"  Can  you  ask  ?  Wretch !  Eead  that,  and  understand 
what  you  have  done,"  answered  Donna  Tullia,  making 
a  step  forward  and  thrusting  Saracinesca's  letter  in  his 
face. 

Del  Ferice  had  already  seen  the  handwriting,  and  kne'W 

Vol.  10—18 


406  SARACINESCA. 

what  the  contents  were  likely  to  be.  He  took  the  letter 
in  one  hand,  and  without  looking  at  it,  still  faced  the 
angry  woman.  His  brows  contracted  into  a  heavy  frown, 
and  his  half-closed  eyes  gazed  menacingly  at  her. 

"  It  will  be  an  evil  day  for  any  man  who  comes  be 
tween  you  and  me,"  he  said,  in  tragic  tones. 

Donna  Tullia  laughed  harshly,  and  again  drew  herself 
up,  watching  his  face,  and  expecting  to  witness  his  utter 
confusion.  But  she  was  no  match  for  the  actor  whom 
she  had  promised  to  marry.  Del  Ferice  began  to  read, 
and  as  he  read,  his  frown  relaxed ;  gradually  an  ugly 
smile,  intended  to  represent  fiendish  cunning,  stole  over 
his  features,  and  when  he  had  finished,  he  uttered  a  cry 
of  triumph. 

"  Ha !  "  he  said,  "  I  guessed  it !  I  hoped  it — and  it  is 
true !  He  is  found  at  last !  The  very  man — the  real 
Saracinesca  !  It  is  only  a  matter  of  time " 

Donna  Tullia  now  stared  in  unfeigned  surprise.  In 
stead  of  crushing  him  to  the  ground  as  she  had  expected, 
the  letter  seemed  to  fill  him  with  boundless  delight.  He 
paced  the  room  in  wild  excitement,  chattering  like  a  mad 
man.  In  spite  of  herself,  however,  her  own  spirits  rose, 
and  her  anger  against  Del  Ferice  softened.  All  was  per 
haps  not  lost — who  could  fathom  the  intricacy  of  his  great 
schemes  ?  Surely  he  was  not  the  man  to  fall  a  victim  to 
his  own  machinations. 

"  Will  you  please  explain  your  extraordinary  satisfac 
tion  at  this  news  ?  "  said  Madame  Mayer.  Between  her 
late  anger,  her  revived  hopes,  and  her  newly  roused  curi 
osity,  she  was  in  a  terrible  state  of  suspense. 

"  Explain  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Explain  what,  most  adorable 
of  women?  Does  it  not  explain  itself  ?  Have  we  not 
found  the  Marchese  di  San  Giacinto,  the  real  Saracinesca? 
Is  not  that  enough  ?  " 

"I  do  not  understand " 

Del  Ferice  was  now  by  her  side.  He  seemed  hardly 
able  to  control  himself  for  joy.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he 
was  acting,  and  acting  a  desperate  part  too,  suggested  on 


SARACINESCA.  407 

the  spur  of  the  moment  by  the  risk  he  ran  of  losing  this 
woman  and  her  fortune  on  the  very  eve  of  marriage.  Now 
he  seized  her  hand,  and  drawing  her  arm  through  his,  led 
her  quickly  backwards  and  forwards,  talking  fast  and 
earnestly.  It  would  not  do  to  hesitate,  for  by  a  moment's 
appearance  of  uncertainty  all  would  be  lost. 

"  No ;  of  course  you  cannot  understand  the  vast  im 
portance  of  this  discovery.  I  must  explain.  I  must  enter 
into  historic  details,  and  I  am  BO  much  overcome  by  this 
extraordinary  turn  of  fortune  that  I  can  hardly  speak. 
Remove  all  doubt  from  your  mind,  my  dear  lady,  for  we 
have  already  triumphed.  This  innkeeper,  this  Giovanni 
Saracinesca,  this  Marchese  di  San  Giaeinto,  is  the  lawful 
and  right  Prince  Saracinesca,  the  head  of  the  house " 

"  What !  "  screamed  Donna  Tullia,  stopping  short,  and 
gripping  his  arm  as  in  a  vice. 

"  Indeed  he  is.  I  suspected  it  when  I  first  found  the 
signature  at  Aquila;  but  the  man  was  gone,  with  his 
newly  married  wife,  no  one  knew  whither ;  and  I  could 
not  find  him,  search  as  I  might.  He  is  now  returned,  and 
what  is  more,  as  this  letter  says,  with  all  his  papers  prov 
ing  his  identity.  This  is  how  the  matter  lies.  Listen, 
Tullia  mia.  The  old  Leone  Saracinesca  who  last  bore 
the  title  of  Marquis " 

"  The  one  mentioned  here  ? "  asked  Donna  Tullia, 
breathlessly. 

"  Yes — the  one  who  took  service  under  Murat,  under 
Napoleon.  Well,  it  is  perfectly  well  known  that  he  laid 
claim  to  the  Roman  title,  and  with  perfect  justice.  Two 
generations  before  that,  there  had  been  an  amicable  ar 
rangement — amicable,  but  totally  illegal — whereby  the 
elder  brother,  who  was  an  unmarried  invalid,  transferred 
the  Roman  estates  to  his  younger  brother,  who  was  mar 
ried  and  had  children,  and,  in  exchange,  took  the  Nea 
politan  estates  and  title,  which  had  just  fallen  back  to  the 
main  branch  by  the  death  of  a  childless  Marchese  di  San 
Giacinto.  Late  in  life  this  old  recluse  invalid  married, 
contrary  to  all  expectation — certainly  contrary  to  his  own 


408  SARACINESCA. 

previous  intentions.  However,  a  child  was  born — a  boy. 
The  old  man  found  himself  deprived  by  his  own  act  of  his 
principality,  and  the  succession  turned  from  his  son  to  the 
son  of  his  younger  brother.  He  began  a  negotiation  for 
again  obtaining  possession  of  the  Roman  title — at  least  so 
the  family  tradition  goes — but  his  brother,  who  was  firmly 
established  in  Eome,  refused  to  listen  to  his  demands.  At 
this  juncture  the  old  man  died,  being  legally,  observe,  still 
the  head  of  the  family  of  Saracinesca ;  his  son  should  have 
succeeded  him.  But  his  wife,  the  young  daughter  of  an 
obscure  Neapolitan  nobleman,  was  not  more  than  eighteen 
years  of  age,  and  the  child  was  only  six  months  old. 
People  married  young  in  those  days.  She  entered  some 
kind  of  protest,  which,  however,  was  of  no  avail ;  and  the 
boy  grew  up  to  be  called  the  Marchese  di  San  Giacinto. 
He  learned  the  story  of  his  birth  from  his  mother,  and 
protested  in  his  turn.  He  ruined  himself  in  trying  to 
push  his  suit  in  the  Neapolitan  courts ;  and  finally,  in  the 
days  of  Napoleon's  success,  he  took  service  under  Murat, 
receiving  the  solemn  promise  of  the  Emperor  that  he 
should  be  reinstated  in  his  title.  But  the  Emperor  forgot 
his  promise,  or  did  not  find  it  convenient  to  keep  it,  hav 
ing  perhaps  reasons  of  his  own  for  not  quarrelling  with 
Pius  the  Seventh,  who  protected  the  Eoman  Saracinesca 
Then  came  1815,  the  downfall  of  the  Empire,  the  restora* 
tion  of  Ferdinand  IV.  in  Naples,  the  confiscation  of  prop 
erty  from  all  who  had  joined  the  Emperor,  and  the 
consequent  complete  ruin  of  San  G-iacinto's  hopes.  He 
was  supposed  to  have  been  killed,  or  to  have  made  away 
with  himself.  Saracinesca  himself  acknowledges  that 
his  grandson  is  alivexand  possesses  all  the  family  papers. 
Saracinesca  himself  has  discovered,  seen,  and  conversed 
with  the  lawful  head  of  his  race,  who,  by  the  blessing  of 
heaven  and  the  assistance  of  the  courts,  will  before  long 
turn  him  out  of  house  and  home,  and  reign  in  his  stead 
in  all  the  glories  of  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca,  Prince  of 
Eome,  of  the  Holy  Eoman  Empire,  grandee  of  Spain  of 
the  first  class,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Do  you  wonder 


SARACINESCA.  409 

I  rejoice,  now  that  I  am  sure  of  putting  an  innkeeper 
over  my  enemy's  head  ?  Fancy  the  humiliation  of 
old  Saracinejsca,  of  Giovanni,  who  will  have  to  take 
his  wife's  title  for  the  sake  of  respectability,  of  the  As- 
trardente  herself,  when  she  finds  she  has  married  the 
penniless  son  of  a  penniless  pretender  ! " 

Del  Ferice  knew  enough  of  the  Saracinesca's  family 
history  to  know  that  something  like  what  he  had  so 
fluently  detailed  to  Donna  Tullia  had  actually  occurred, 
and  he  knew  well  enough  that  she  would  not  remember 
every  detail  of  his  rapidly  told  tale.  Hating  the  family 
as  he  did,  he  had  diligently  sought  out  all  information 
about  them  which  he  could  obtain  without  gaining  access 
to  their  private  archives.  His  ready  wit  helped  him  to 
string  the  whole  into  a  singularly  plausible  story.  So 
plausible,  indeed,  that  it  entirely  upset  all  Donna  Tullia' s 
(determination  to  be  angry  at  Del  Ferice,  and  filled  her 
with  something  of  the  enthusiasm  he  showed.  For  him 
self  he  hoped  that  there  was  enough  in  his  story  to  do 
some  palpable  injury  to  the  Saracinesca;  but  his  more 
immediate  object  was  not  to  lose  Donna  Tullia  by  letting 
her  feel  any  disappointment  at  the  discovery  recently 
made  by  the  old  Prince.  Donna  Tullia  listened  with 
breathless  interest  until  he  had  finished. 

"  What  a  man  you  are,  Ugo !  How  you  turn  defeat 
into  victory-!  Is  it  all  really  true  ?  Do  you  think  we 
can  do  it  ?  " 

u  If  I  were  to  die  this  instant,"  Del  Ferice  asseverated,- 
solemnly  raising  his  hand,  "  it  is  all  perfectly  true,  so  help 
me  God ! " 

He  hoped,  for  many  reasons,  that  he  was  not  perjuring 
himself. 

"  What  shall  we  do,  then  ?  "  asked  Madame  Mayer. 

"  Let  them  marry  first,  and  then  we  shall  be  sure  of 
humiliating  them  both,"  he  answered.  Unconsciously 
he  repeated  the  very  determination  which  Giovanni 
had  formed  against  him  the  night  before.  "  Meanwhile, 
you  and  I  can  consult  the  lawyers  and  see  how  this 


410  SARACINESCA. 

thing  can  best  be  accomplished  quickly  and  surely,"  he 
added. 

"  You  will  have  to  send  for  the  innkeeper " 

"  I  will  go  and  see  him.     It  will  not  be  hard  to  persuade 
him  to  claim  his  lawful  rights." 

Del  Ferice  remained  some  time  in  conversation  with 
Donna  Tullia.  The  magnitude  of  the  scheme  fascinated 
her,  and  instead  of  thinking  of  breaking  her  promise  to 
Ugo  as  she  had  intended  doing,  she  so  far  fell  under  his 
influence  as  to  name  the  wedding-day, — Easter  Monday, 
they  agreed,  would  exactly  suit  them  and  their  plans. 
Indeed  the  idea  of  refusing  to  fulfil  her  engagement  had 
been  but  the  result  of  a  transitory  fit  of  anger ;  if  she  had 
had  any  fear  of  making  a  misalliance  in  marrying  Del 
Ferice,  the  way  in  which  the  world  received  the  news  of 
the  engagement  removed  all  such  apprehension  from  her 
mind.  Del  Ferice  was  already  treated  with  increased  re 
spect — the  very  servants  began  to  call  him  "  Eccellenza," 
a  distinction  to  which  he  neither  had,  nor  could  ever  have, 
any  kind  of  claim,  but  which  pleased  Donna  Tullia's  vain 
soul.  The  position  which  Ugo  had  obtained  for  himself 
by  an  assiduous  attention  to  the  social  claims  and  preju 
dices  of  social  lights  and  oracles,  was  suddenly  assured  to 
him,  and  rendered  tenfold  more  brilliant  by  the  news  of 
his  alliance  with  Donna  Tullia.  He  excited  no  jealousies 
either;  for  Donna  Tullia' s  peculiarities  were  of  a  kind 
which  seemed  to  have  interfered  from  the  first  with  her 
matrimonial  projects.  As  a  young  girl,  a  relation  of  the 
Saracinesca,  whom  she  now  so  bitterly  hated,  she  should 
have  been  regarded  as  marriageable  by  any  of  the  young 
Roman  nobles,  from  Valdarno  down.  But  she  had  only 
a  small  dowry,  and  she  was  said  to  be  extravagant — two 
objections  then  not  so  easily  overcome  as  now.  Moreover, 
she  was  considered  to  be  somewhat  flighty ;  and  the  social 
jury  decided  that  when  she  was  married,  she  would  be 
excellent  company,  but  would  make  a  very  poor  wife. 
Almost  before  they  had  finished  discussing  her,  however, 
she  had  found  a  husband,  in  the  shape  of  the  wealthy 


SARACINESCA.  411 

foreign  contractor,  Mayer,  who  wanted  a  wife  from  a  good 
Eoman  house,  and  cared  not  at  all  for  money.  She  treated 
him  very  well,  but  was  speedily  delivered  from  all  her 
cares  by  his  untimely  death.  Then,  of  all  her  fellow- 
citizens,  none  was  found  save  the  eccentric  old  Saracinesca, 
who  believed  that  she  would  do  for  his  son ;  wherein  it 
appeared  that  Giovanni's  father  was  the  man  of  all  others 
who  least  understood  Giovanni's  inclinations.  But  this 
match  fell  to  the  ground,  owing  to  Giovanni's  attachment 
to  Corona,  and  Madame  Mayer  was  left  with  the  prospect 
of  remaining  a  widow  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  or  of  marry 
ing  a  poor  man.  She  chose  the  latter  alternative,  and  fate 
threw  into  her  way  the  cleverest  poor  man  in  Rome,  as 
though  desiring  to  compensate  her  for  not  having  married 
one  of  the  greatest  nobles,  in  the  person  of  Giovanni. 
Though  she  was  always  a  centre  of  attraction,  no  one  of 
those  she  most  attracted  wanted  to  marry  her,  and  all 
expressed  their  unqualified  approval  of  her  ultimate  choice. 
One  said  she  was  very  generous  to  marry  a  penniless  gen 
tleman  ;  another  remarked  that  she  showed  wisdom  in 
choosing  a  man  who  was  in  the  way  of  making  himself 
a  good  position  under  the  Italian  Government ;  a  third 
observed  that  he  was  delighted,  because  he  could  enjoy 
her  society  without  being  suspected  of  wanting  to  marry 
her ;  and  all  agreed  in  praising  her,  and  in  treating  Del 
Fence  with  the  respect  due  to  a  man  highly  favored  by 
fortune. 

Donna  Tullia  named  the  wedding-day,  and  her  affianced 
husband  departed  in  high  spirits  with  himself,  with  her, 
and  with  his  scheme.  He  felt  still  a  little  excited,  and 
wanted  to  be  alone.  He  hardly  realised  the  magnitude  of 
the  plot  he  had  undertaken,  and  needed  time  to  reflect 
upon  it ;  but  with  the  true  instinct  of  an  intriguing  genius 
he  recognised  at  once  that  his  new  plan  was  the  thing  he 
had  sought  for  long  and  ardently,  and  that  it  was  worth 
all  his  other  plans  put  together.  Accordingly  he  went 
home,  and  proceeded  to  devote  himself  to  the  study  of  the 
question,  sending  a  note  to  a  friend  of  his — a  young  lawyer 


412  SAKACINESCA. 

of  doubtful  reputation,  but  of  brilliant  parts,  whom  he  at 
once  selected  as  his  chief  counsellor  in  the  important  affair 
he  had  undertaken. 

Before  long  he  heard  that  the  marriage  of  Don  Giovanni 
Saracinesca  to  the  Duchessa  d' Astrardente  was  to  take  place 
the  next  week,  in  the  chapel  of  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca. 
At  least  popular  report  said  that  the  ceremony  was  to  take 
place  there ;  and  that  it  was  to  be  performed  with  great 
privacy  was  sufficiently  evident  from  the  fact  that  no  in 
vitations  appeared  to  have  been  issued.  Society  did  not 
fail  to  comment  upon  such  exclusiveness,  and  it  commented 
unfavourably,  for  it  felt  that  it  was  being  deprived  of  a 
long-anticipated  spectacle.  This  state  of  things  lasted  for 
two  days,  when,  upon  the  Sunday  morning  precisely  a  week 
before  the  wedding,  all  Eome  was  surprised  by  receiving 
an  imposing  invitation,  setting  forth  that  the  marriage 
would  be  solemnised  in  the  Basilica  of  the  Santi  Apostoli, 
and  that  it  would  be  followed  by  a  state  reception  at  the 
Palazzo  Saracinesca.  It  was  soon  known  that  the  cere 
mony  would  be  performed  by  the  Cardinal  Archpriest  of 
St  Peter's,  that  the  united  choirs  of  St  Peter's  and  of  the 
Sixtine  Chapel  would  sing  the  High  Mass,  and  that  the 
whole  occasion  would  be  one  of  unprecedented  solemnity 
and  magnificence.  This  was  the  programme  published  by 
the  '  Osservatore  Eomano,'  and  that  newspaper  proceeded 
to  pronounce  a  eulogy  of  some  length  and  considerable 
eloquence  upon  the  happy  pair.  Eome  was  fairly  taken 
off  its  feet ;  and  although  some  malcontents  were  found, 
who  said  it  was  improper  that  Corona's  marriage  should 
be  celebrated  with  such  pomp  so  soon  after  her  husband's 
death,  the  general  verdict  was  that  the  whole  proceeding 
was  eminently  proper  and  becoming  to  so  important  an 
event.  So  soon  as  every  one  had  been  invited,  no  one 
seemed  to  think  it  remarkable  that  the  invitations  should 
have  been  issued  so  late.  It  was  not  generally  known  that 
in  the  short  time  which  elapsed  between  the  naming  of  the 
day  and  the  issuing  of  the  cards,  there  had  been  several 
interviews  between  old  Saracinesca  and  Cardinal  Antonelli ; 


SARACINESCA.  413 

that  the  former  had  explained  Corona's  natural  wish  that 
the  marriage  should  be  private,  and  that  the  latter  had 
urged  many  reasons  why  so  great  an  event  ought  to  be 
public ;  that  Saracinesca  had  said  he  did  not  care  at  all, 
and  was  only  expressing  the  views  of  his  son  and  of  the 
bride ;  that  the  Cardinal  had  repeatedly  asseverated  that 
he  wished  to  please  everybody ;  that  Corona  had  refused 
to  be  pleased  by  a  public  ceremony  ;  and  that,  finally,  the 
Cardinal,  seeing  himself  hard  pressed,  had  persuaded  his 
Holiness  himself  to  express  a  wish  that  the  marriage 
should  take  place  in  the  most  solemn  and  public  manner; 
wherefore  Corona  had  reluctantly  yielded  the  point,  and 
the  matter  was  arranged.  The  fact  was  that  the  Cardinal 
wished  to  make  a  sort  of  demonstration  of  the  solidarity 
of  the  Roman  nobility :  it  suited  his  aims  to  enter  into 
every  detail  which  could  add  to  the  importance  of  the 
Koman  Court,  and  which  could  help  to  impress  upon  the 
foreign  Ministers  the  belief  that  in  all  matters  the  Romans 
as  one  man  would  stand  by  each  other  and  by  the  Vatican. 
No  one  knew  better  than  he  how  the  spectacle  of  a  relig 
ious  solemnity,  at  which  the  whole  nobility  would  attend 
in  a  body,  must  strike  the  mind  of  a  stranger  in  Rome ; 
for  in  Roman  ceremonies  of  that  day  there  was  a  pomp 
and  magnificence  surpassing  that  found  in  any  other 
Court  of  Europe.  The  whole  marriage  would  become  an 
event  of  which  he  could  make  an  impressive  use,  and  he 
was  determined  not  to  forego  any  advantages  which  might 
arise  from  it ;  for  he  was  a  man  who  of  all  men  well  un 
derstood  the  value  of  details  in  maintaining  prestige. 

But  to  the  two  principal  actors  in  the  day's  doings  the 
affair  was  an  unmitigated  annoyance,  and  even  their  own 
great  and  true  happiness  could  not  lighten  the  excessive 
fatigue  of  the  pompous  ceremony  and  of  the  still  more 
pompous  reception  which  followed  it.  To  describe  that 
day  would  be  to  make  out  a  catalogue  of  gorgeous  equi 
pages,  gorgeous  costumes,  gorgeous  decorations.  Many 
pages  would  not  suffice  to  enumerate  the  cardinals,  the 
dignitaries,  the  ambassadors,  the  great  nobles,  whose  mag- 


414  SARACINESCA. 

nificent  coaches  drove  up  in  long  file  through  the  Piazza 
dei  Santi  Apostoli  to  the  door  of  the  Basilica.  The  col 
umns  of  the  <  Osservatore  Eomano '  were  full  of  it  for  a 
week  afterwards.  There  was  no  end  to  the  descriptions 
of  the  costumes,  from  the  white  satin  and  diamonds  of 
the  bride  to  the  festal  uniforms  of  the  Cardinal  Arch- 
priest's  retinue.  Not  a  personage  of  importance  was 
overlooked  in  the  newspaper  account,  not  a  diplomatist, 
not  an  officer  of  Zouaves.  And  society  read  the  praise 
of  itself,  and  found  it  much  more  interesting  than  the 
praise  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom  ;  and  only  one  or  two 
people  were  offended  because  the  paper  had  made  a  mis 
take  in  naming  the  colours  of  the  hammer-cloths  upon 
their  coaches  :  so  that  the  affair  was  a  great  success. 

But  when  at  last  the  sun  was  low  and  the  guests  had  de 
parted  from  the  Palazzo  Saracinesca,  Corona  and  Giovanni 
got  into  their  travelling  carriage  under  the  great  dark  arch 
way,  and  sighed  a  sigh  of  infinite  relief.  The  old  Prince 
put  his  arms  tenderly  around  his  new  daughter  and  kissed 
her ;  and  for  the  second  time  in  the  course  of  this  history, 
it  is  to  be  recorded  that  two  tears  stole  silently  down  his 
brown  cheeks  to  his  grey  beard.  Then  he  embraced  Gio 
vanni,  whose  face  was  pale  and  earnest. 

"  This  is  not  the  end  of  our  living  together,  padre  mio" 
he  said.  "  We  shall  expect  you  before  long  at  Saracin 
esca." 

"  Yes,  my  boy,"  returned  the  old  man ;  "  I  will  come 
and  see  you  after  Easter.  But  do  not  stay  if  it  is  too 
cold ;  I  have  a  little  business  to  attend  to  in  Kome  before 
I  join  you,"  he  added,  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  I  know,"  replied  Giovanni,  a  savage  light  in  his  black 
eyes.  "  If  you  need  help,  send  to  me,  or  come  yourself." 

"  No  fear  of  that,  Giovannino ;  I  have  got  a  terrible 
helper.  Now,  be  off.  The  guards  are  growing  im 
patient." 

"  Good-bye.     God  bless  you,  padre  mio  !  " 

"  God  bless  you  both ! "  So  they  drove  off,  and  left  old 
Saracinesca  standing  bareheaded  and  alone  under  the  dim 


SAKACINESCA.  415 

archway  of  his  ancestral  palace.  The  great  carriage  rolled 
out,  and  the  guard  of  mounted  gendarmes,  which  the  Car 
dinal  had  insisted  upon  sending  with  the  young  couple, 
half  out  of  compliment,  half  for  safety,  fell  in  behind,  and 
trotted  down  the  narrow  street,  with  a  deafening  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  clang  of  scabbards. 

But  Giovanni  held  Corona's  hand  in  his,  and  both  were 
silent  for  a  time.  Then  they  rolled  under  the  low  vault 
of  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo  and  out  into  the  evening  sun 
light  of  the  Campagna  beyond. 

"  God  be  praised  that  it  has  come  at  last ! "  said  Gio 
vanni. 

"  Yes,  it  has  come,"  answered  Corona,  her  strong  white 
fingers  closing  upon  his  brown  hand  almost  convulsively ; 
"  and,  come  what  may,  you  are  mine,  Giovanni,  until  we 
die!" 

There  was  something  fierce  in  the  way  those  two  loved 
each  other ;  for  they  had  fought  many  fights  before  they 
were  united,  and  had  overcome  themselves,  each  alone, 
before  they  had  overcome  other  obstacles  together. 

Kelays  of  horses  awaited  them  on  their  way,  and  relays 
of  mounted  guards.  Late  that  night  they  reached  Sara- 
cinesca,  all  ablaze  with  torches  and  lanterns  ;  and  the 
young  men  took  the  horses  from  the  coach  and  yoked 
themselves  to  it  with  ropes,  and  dragged  the  cumbrous 
carriage  up  the  last  hill  with  furious  speed,  shouting  and 
singing  like  madmen  in  the  cool  mountain  air.  Up  the 
steep  they  rushed,  and  under  the  grand  old  gateway,  made 
as  bright  as  day  with  flaming  torches ;  and  then  there 
went  up  a  shout  that  struck  the  old  vaults  like  a  wild 
chord  of  fierce  music,  and  Corona  knew  that  her  journey 
was  ended. 

So  it  was  that  Giovanni  Saracinesca  brought  home  his 
bride. 


416  SAKACINESCA. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  old  Prince  was  left  alone,  as  lie  had  often  been 
left  before,  when  Giovanni  was  gone  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth  in  pursuit  of  his  amusements.  On  such  occasions 
old  Saracinesca  frequently  packed  up  his  traps  and  fol 
lowed  his  son's  example ;  but  he  rarely  went  further 
than  Paris,  where  he  had  many  friends,  and  where  he 
generally  succeeded  in  finding  consolation  for  his  soli 
tude. 

Now,  however,  he  felt  more  than  usually  lonely.  Gio 
vanni  had  not  gone  far,  it  is  true,  for  with  good  horses  it 
was  scarcely  more  than  eight  hours  to  the  castle ;  but,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  old  Saracinesca  felt  that  if  he  had 
suddenly  determined  to  follow  his  son,  he  would  not  be 
welcome.  The  boy  was  married  at  last,  and  must  be  left 
in  peace  for  a  few  days  with  his  bride.  With  the  con 
trariety  natural  to  him,  old  Saracinesca  no  sooner  felt 
that  his  son  was  gone  than  he  experienced  the  most 
ardent  desire  to  be  with  him.  He  had  often  seen  Gio 
vanni  leave  the  house  at  twenty-four  hours'  notice  on 
his  way  to  some  distant  capital,  and  had  not  cared  to 
accompany  him,  simply  because  he  knew  he  might  do  so 
if  he  pleased;  but  now  he  felt  that  some  one  else  had 
taken  his  place,  and  that,  for  a  time  at  least,  he  was 
forcibly  excluded  from  Giovanni's  society.  It  is  very 
likely  that  but  for  the  business  which  detained  him  in 
Home  he  would  have  astonished  the  happy  pair  by 
riding  into  the  gateway  of  the  old  castle  on  the  day  after 
the  wedding :  that  business,  however,  was  urgent,  secret, 
and,  moreover,  very  congenial  to  the  old  man's  present 
temper. 

He  had  discussed  the  matter  fully  with  Giovanni,  and 
they  had  agreed  upon  the  course  to  be  pursued.  There 
was,  nevertheless,  much  to  be  done  before  the  end  they 
both  so  earnestly  desired  could  be  attained.  It  seemed  a 


SAKACINESCA.  417 

simple  plan  to  go  to  Cardinal  Antonelli  and  to  demand  the 
arrest  of  Del  Ferice  for  his  misdeeds ;  but  as  yet  those 
misdeeds  were  undefined,  and  it  was  necessary  to  define 
them.  The  Cardinal  rarely  resorted  to  such  measures  ex 
cept  when  the  case  was  urgent,  and  Saracinesca  knew  per 
fectly  well  that  it  would  be  hard  to  prove  anything  more 
serious  against  Del  Ferice  than  the  crime  of  joining  in  the 
silly  talk  of  Valdarno  and  his  set.  Giovanni  had  told  his 
father  plainly  that  he  was  sure  Del  Ferice  derived  his  liv 
ing  from  some  illicit  source,  but  he  was  wholly  unable  to 
show  what  that  source  was.  Most  people  believed  the 
story  that  Del  Ferice  had  inherited  money  from  an  ob 
scure  relative ;  most  people  thought  he  was  clever  and 
astute,  but  were  so  far  deceived  by  his  frank  and  un 
affected  manner  as  to  feel  sure  that  he  always  said  every 
thing  that  came  into  his  head ;  most  people  are  so  much 
delighted  when  an  unusually  clever  man  deigns  to  talk  to 
them,  that  they  cannot,  for  vanity's  sake,  suspect  him  of 
deceiving  them.  Saracinesca  did  not  doubt  that  the  mere 
statement  of  his  own  belief  in  regard  to  Del  Ferice  would 
have  considerable  weight  with  the  Cardinal,  for  he  was 
used  to  power  of  a  certain  kind,  and  was  accustomed  to 
see  his  judgment  treated  with  deference ;  but  he  knew  the 
Cardinal  to  be  a  cautious  man,  hating  despotic  measures, 
because  by  his  use  of  them  he  had  made  himself  so  bit 
terly  hated — loth  always  to  do  by  force  what  might  be 
accomplished  by  skill,  and  in  the  end  far  more  likely  to 
attempt  the  conversion  of  Del  Ferice  to  the  reactionary 
view,  than  to  order  his  expulsion  because  his  views  were 
over  liberal.  Even  if  old  Saracinesca  had  possessed  a 
vastly  greater  diplomatic  instinct  than  he  did,  coupled 
with  an  unscrupulous  mendacity  which  he  certainly  had 
not,  he  would  have  found  it  hard  to  persuade  the  Cardinal 
against  his  will ;  but  Saracinesca  was,  of  all  men,  a  man 
violent  in  action  and  averse  to  reflection  before  or  after  the 
fact.  That  he  should  ultimately  be  revenged  upon  Del 
Ferice  and  Donna  Tullia  for  the  part  they  had  lately 
played,  was  a  matter  which  it  never  entered  his  head  to 


418  SARACINESCA. 

doubt;  but  when  he  endeavoured  to  find  means  which 
should  persuade  the  Cardinal  to  assist  him,  he  seemed 
fenced  in  on  all  sides  by  impossibilities.  One  thing  only 
helped  him — namely,  the  conviction  that  if  the  statesman 
could  be  induced  to  examine  Del  Ferice's  conduct  seri 
ously,  the  latter  would  prove  to  be  not  only  an  enemy  to 
the  State,  but  a  bitter  enemy  to  the  Cardinal  himself. 

The  more  Saracinesca  thought  of  the  matter,  the  more 
convinced  he  was  that  he  should  go  boldly  to  the  Car 
dinal  and  state  his  belief  that  Del  Ferice  was  a  danger 
ous  traitor,  who  ought  to  be  summarily  dealt  with.  If 
the  Cardinal  argued  the  case,  the  Prince  would  asseverate, 
after  his  manner,  and  some  sort  of  result  was  sure  to 
follow.  As  he  thus  determined  upon  his  course,  his 
doubts  seemed  to  vanish,  as  they  generally  do  in  the 
mind  of  a  strong  man,  when  action  becomes  imminent, 
and  the  confidence  the  old  man  had  exhibited  to  his  son 
very  soon  became  genuine.  It  was  almost  intolerable  to 
have  to  wait  so  long,  however,  before  doing  anything. 
Giovanni  and  he  had  decided  to  allow  Del  Ferice's  mar 
riage  to  take  place  before  producing  the  explosion,  in 
order  the  more  certainly  to  strike  both  the  offenders  ; 
now  it  seemed  best  to  strike  at  once.  Supposing,  he 
argued  with  himself,  that  Donna  Tullia  and  her  husband 
chose  to  leave  Rome  for  Paris  the  day  after  their  wed 
ding,  half  the  triumph  would  be  lost;  for  half  the  tri 
umph  was  to  consist  in  Del  Ferice's  being  imprisoned 
for  a  spy  in  Koine,  whereas  if  he  once  crossed  the  fron 
tier,  he  could  at  most  be  forbidden  to  return,  which 
would  be  but  a  small  satisfaction  to  Saracinesca,  or  to 
Giovanni. 

A  week  passed  by,  and  the  gaiety  of  Carnival  was 
again  at  its  height ;  and  again  a  week  elapsed,  and  Lent 
was  come.  Saracinesca  went  everywhere  and  saw  every 
body  as  usual,  and  then  after  Ash- Wednesday  he  occa 
sionally  showed  himself  at  some  of  those  quiet  evening 
receptions  which  his  son  so  much  detested.  But  he 
was  restless  and  discontented.  He  longed  to  begin  the 


SARACINESCA.  419 

fight,  and  could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  it.  Like  Gio 
vanni,  he  was  strong  and  revengeful ;  but  Giovanni  had 
from  his  mother  a  certain  slowness  of  temperament, 
which  often  deterred  him  from  action  just  long  enough 
to  give  him  time  for  reflection,  whereas  the  father,  when 
roused,  and  he  was  roused  easily,  loved  to  strike  at  once. 
It  chanced  one  evening,  in  a  great  house,  that  Saracinesca 
came  upon  the  Cardinal  standing  alone  in  an  outer  room. 
He  was  on  his  way  into  the  reception;  but  he  had  stopped, 
attracted  by  a  beautiful  crystal  cup  of  old  workman 
ship,  which  stood,  among  other  objects  of  the  kind, 
upon  a  marble  table  in  one  of  the  drawing-rooms  through 
which  he  had  to  pass.  The  cup  itself,  of  deeply  carved 
rock  crystal,  was  set  in  chiselled  silver,  and  if  not  the 
work  of  Cellini  himself,  must  have  been  made  by  one 
of  his  pupils.  Saracinesca  stopped  by  the  great  man's 
side. 

"  Good  evening,  Eminence,"  he  said. 

"  Good  evening,  Prince/7  returned  the  Cardinal,  who 
recognised  Saracinesca's  voice  without  looking  up.  "Have 
you  ever  seen  this  marvellous  piece  of  work  ?  I  have  been 
admiring  it  for  a  quarter  of  an'  hour."  He  loved  all 
objects  of  the  kind,  and  understood  them  with  rare 
knowledge. 

"It  is  indeed  exceedingly  beautiful,"  answered  Saracin 
esca,  who  longed  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  of 
speaking  to  Cardinal  Antonelli  upon  the  subject  nearest 
to  his  heart. 

"  Yes — yes,"  returned  the  Cardinal  rather  vaguely,  and 
made  as  though  he  would  go  on.  He  saw  from  Saracin 
esca's  commonplace  praise,  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
subject.  The  old  Prince  saw  his  opportunity  slipping 
from  him,  and  lost  his  head.  He  did  not  recollect  that 
he  could  see  the  Cardinal  alone  whenever  he  pleased,  by 
merely  asking  for  an  interview.  Fate  had  thrust  the 
Cardinal  in  his  path,  and  fate  was  responsible. 

"  If  your  Eminence  will  allow  me,  I  would  like  a 
word  with  you,"  he  said  suddenly. 


420  SARACINESCA. 

"As  many  as  you  please,"  answered  the  statesman, 
blandly.  "  Let  us  sit  down  in  that  corner — no  one  will 
disturb  us  for  a  while." 

He  seemed  unusually  affable,  as  he  sat  himself  down 
by  Saracinesca's  side,  gathering  the  skirt  of  his  scarlet 
mantle  across  his  knee,  and  folding  his  delicate  hands 
together  in  an  attitude  of  restful  attention. 

"You  know,  I  daresay,  a  certain  Del  Ferice,  Emi 
nence  ?  "  began  the  Prince. 

"  Very  well — the  deus  ex  machind  who  has  appeared  to 
carry  off  Donna  Tullia  Mayer.  Yes,  I  know  him." 

"  Precisely,  and  they  will  match  very  well  together ; 
the  world  cannot  help  applauding  the  union  of  the  flesh 
and  the  devil." 

The  Cardinal  smiled. 

"The  metaphor  is  apt,"  he  said;  "but  what  about 
them  ?  " 

"I  will  tell  you  in  two  words,"  replied  Saracinesca. 
"  Del  Ferice  is  a  scoundrel  of  the  first  water " 

"A  jewel  among  scoundrels,"  interrupted  the  Cardinal, 
"for  being  a  scoundrel  he  is  yet  harmless — a  stage  vil 
lain." 

"  I  believe  your  Eminence  is  deceived  in  him." 

"  That  may  easily  be,"  answered  the  statesman.  "  I 
am  much  more  often  deceived  than  people  imagine." 
He  spoke  very  mildly,  but  his  small  black  eyes  turned 
keenly  upon  Saracinesca.  "  What  has  he  been  doing  ?  " 
he  asked,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  He  has  been  trying  to  do  a  great  deal  of  harm  to  my 
son  and  to  my  son's  wife.  I  suspect  him  strongly  of 
doing  harm  to  you." 

Whether  Saracinesca  was  strictly  honest  in  saying 
"  you  "  to  the  Cardinal,  when  he  meant  the  whole  State 
as  represented  by  the  prime  minister,  is  a  matter  not 
easily  decided.  There  is  a  Latin  saying,  to  the  effect 
that  a  man  who  is  feared  by  many  should  himself  fear 
many,  and  the  saying  is  true.  The  Cardinal  was  per 
sonally  a  brave  man ;  but  he  knew  his  danger,  and  the 


SAEACINESCA.  421 

memory  of  the  murdered  Eossi  was  fresh  in  his  mind. 
Nevertheless,  he  smiled  blandly  as  he  answered — 

"  That  is  rather  vague,  my  friend.  How  is  he  doing 
me  harm,  if  I  may  ask  ?  " 

"I  argue  in  this  way,"  returned  Saracinesca,  thus 
pressed.  "  The  fellow  found  a  most  ingenious  way  of  at 
tacking  my  son — he  searched  the  whole  country  till  he 
found  that  a  man  called  Giovanni  Saracinesca  had  been 
married  some  time  ago  in  Aquila.  He  copied  the  certifi 
cates,  and  produced  them  as  pretended  proof  that  my  son 
was  already  married.  If  I  had  not  found  the  man  my 
self,  there  would  have  been  trouble.  Now  besides  this, 
Del  Ferice  is  known  to  hold  Liberal  views " 

"Of  the  feeblest  kind,"  interrupted  the  statesman, 
who  nevertheless  became  very  grave. 

"Those  he  exhibits  are  of  the  feeblest  kind,  and  he 
takes  no  trouble  to  hide  them.  But  a  fellow  so  ingenious 
as  to  imagine  the  scheme  he  practised  against  us  is  not  a 
fool." 

"I  understand,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  Cardinal. 
"  You  have  been  injured  by  this  fellow,  and  you  would 
like  me  to  revenge  the  injury  by  locking  him  up.  Is 
that  it?" 

"Precisely,"  answered  Saracinesca,  laughing  at  his 
own  simplicity.  "  I  might  as  well  have  said  so  from  the 
first." 

"  Much  better.  You  would  make  a  poor  diplomatist, 
Prince.  But  what  in  the  world  shall  I  gain  by  revenging 
your  wrongs  upon  that  creature  ?  " 

"  Nothing — unless  when  you  have  taken  the  trouble  to 
examine  his  conduct,  you  find  that  he  is  really  dangerous. 
In  that  case  your  Eminence  will  be  obliged  to  look  to  your 
own  safety.  If  you  find  him  innocent,  you  will  let  him 
go." 

"  And  in  that  case,  what  will  you  do  ?  "  asked  the  Car 
dinal  with  a  smile. 

"  I  will  cut  his  throat,"  answered  Saracinesca,  unmoved. 

"Murder  him?" 


422  SAKACINESCA. 


him  out  and  kill  Mm  like  a  gentleman, 
which  is  a  great  deal  better  than  he  deserves." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  would,"  said  the  Cardinal, 
gravely.  "  I  think  your  proposition  reasonable,  however. 
If  this  man  is  really  dangerous,  I  will  look  to  him  myself. 
But  I  must  really  beg  you  not  to  do  anything  rash.  I 
have  determined  that  this  duelling  shall  stop,  and  I  warn 
you  that  neither  you  nor  any  one  else  will  escape  impris 
onment  if  you  are  involved  in  any  more  of  these  per 
sonal  encounters." 

Saracinesca  suppressed  a  smile  at  the  Cardinal's  threat  ; 
but  he  perceived  that  he  had  gained  his  point,  and  was 
pleased  accordingly.  He  had,  he  felt  sure,  sown  in  the 
statesman's  mind  a  germ  of  suspicion  which  would  before 
long  bring  forth  fruit.  In  those  days  danger  was  plentiful, 
and  people  could  not  afford  to  overlook  it,  no  matter  in 
what  form  it  presented  itself,  least  of  all  such  people  as  the 
Cardinal  himself,  who,  while  sustaining  an  unequal  com 
bat  against  superior  forces  outside  the  State,  felt  that  his 
every  step  was  encompassed  by  perils  from  within.  That 
he  had  long  despised  Del  Ferice  as  an  idle  chatterer  did 
not  prevent  him  from  understanding  that  he  might  have 
been  deceived,  as  Saracinesca  suggested.  He  had  caused 
Ugo  to  be  watched,  it  is  true,  but  only  from  time  to  time, 
and  by  men  whose  only  duty  was  to  follow  him  and  to 
see  whether  he  frequented  suspicious  society.  The  little 
nest  of  talkers  at  Gouache's  studio  in  the  Via  San  Basilic 
was  soon  discovered,  and  proved  to  be  harmless  enough. 
Del  Ferice  was  then  allowed  to  go  on  his  way  unobserved. 
But  the  half-dozen  words  in  which  Saracinesca  had  de 
scribed  Ugo's  scheme  for  hindering  Giovanni's  marriage 
had  set  the  Cardinal  thinking,  and  the  Cardinal  seldom 
wasted  time  in  thinking  in  vain.  His  interview  with 
Saracinesca  ended  very  soon,  and  the  Prince  and  the 
statesman  entered  the  crowded  drawing-room  and  mixed 
in  the  throng.  It  was  long  before  they  met  again  in 
private. 

The  Cardinal  on  the  following  day  gave  orders  that  Del 


SAKACINESCA.  423 

Ferice's  letters  were  to  be  stopped — by  no  means  an  un 
common  proceeding  in  those  times,  nor  so  rare  in  our  own 
day  as  is  supposed.  The  post-office  was  then  in  the  hands 
of  a  private  individual  so  far  as  all  management  was  con 
cerned,  and  the  Cardinal's  word  was  law.  Del  Ferice's 
letters  were  regularly  opened  and  examined. 

The  first  thing  that  was  discovered  was  that  they  fre 
quently  contained  money,  generally  in  the  shape  of  small 
drafts  on  London  signed  by  a  Florentine  banker,  and  that 
the  envelopes  which  contained  money  never  contained  any 
thing  else.  They  were  all  posted  in  Florence.  With  re 
gard  to  his  letters,  they  appeared  to  be  very  innocent 
communications  from  all  sorts  of  people,  rarely  referring  to 
politics,  and  then  only  in  the  most  general  terms.  If  Del 
Ferice  had  expected  to  have  his  correspondence  examined, 
he  could  not  have  arranged  matters  better  for  his  own 
safety.  To  trace  the  drafts  to  the  person  who  sent  them 
was  not  an  easy  business  ;  it  was  impossible  to  introduce 
a  spy  into  the  banking-house  in  Florence,  and  among  the 
many  drafts  daily  bought  and  sold,  it  was  almost  impos 
sible  to  identify,  without  the  aid  of  the  banker's  books, 
the  person  who  chanced  to  buy  any  particular  one.  The 
addresses  were,  it  is  true,  uniformly  written  by  the  same 
hand ;  but  the  writing  was  in  no  way  peculiar,  and  was 
certainly  not  that  of  any  prominent  person  whose  auto 
graph  the  Cardinal  possessed. 

The  next  step  was  to  get  possession  of  some  letter  written 
by  Del  Ferice  himself,  and,  if  possible,  to  intercept  every 
thing  he  wrote.  But  although  the  letters  containing  the 
drafts  were  regularly  opened,  and,  after  having  been 
examined  and  sealed  again,  were  regularly  transmitted 
through  the  post-office  to  Ugo's  address,  the  expert  persons 
set  to  catch  the  letters  he  himself  wrote  were  obliged  to 
own,  after  three  weeks'  careful  watching,  that  he  never 
seemed  to  write  any  letters  at  all,  and  that  he  certainly 
never  posted  any.  They  acknowledged  their  failure  to 
the  Cardinal  with  timid  anxiety,  expecting  to  be  repri 
manded  for  their  carelessness.  But  the  Cardinal  merely 


424  SAEACINESCA. 

told  them  not  to  relax  their  attention,  and  dismissed  them 
with  a  bland  smile.  He  knew,  now,  that  he  was  on  the 
track  of  mischief ;  for  a  man  who  never  writes  any  letters 
at  all,  while  he  receives  many,  might  reasonably  be  sus 
pected  of  having  a  secret  post-office  of  his  own.  For  some 
days  Del  Felice's  movements  were  narrowly  watched,  but 
with  no  result  whatever.  Then  the  Cardinal  sent  for  the 
police  register  of  the  district  where  Del  Ferice  lived,  and 
in  which  the  name,  nationality,  and  residence  of  every 
individual  in  the  "  Rione  "  or  quarter  were  carefully  in 
scribed,  as  they  still  are. 

Running  his  eye  down  the  list,  the  Cardinal  came 
upon  the  name  of  "Temistocle  Fattorusso,  of  Naples, 
servant  to  Ugo  dei  Conti  del  Ferice : "  an  idea  struck 
him. 

"  His  servant  is  a  Neapolitan,"  he  reflected.  "  He 
probably  sends  his  letters  by  way  of  Naples." 

Accordingly  Temistocle  was  watched  instead  of  his 
master.  It  was  found  that  he  frequented  the  society  of 
other  Neapolitans,  and  especially  that  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  going  from  time  to  time  to  the  Ripa  Grande,  the  port 
of  the  Tiber,  where  he  seemed  to  have  numerous  acquaint 
ances  among  the  Neapolitan  boatmen  who  constantly 
came  up  the  coast  in  their  "martingane" — heavy,  sea 
going,  lateen-rigged  vessels,  bringing  cargoes  of  oranges 
and  lemons  to  the  Eoman  market.  The  mystery  was 
now  solved.  One  day  Temistocle  was  actually  seen  giving 
a  letter  into  the  hands  of  a  huge  fellow  in  a  red  woollen 
cap.  The  sbirro  who  saw  him  do  it  marked  the  sailor  and 
his  vessel,  and  never  lost  sight  of  him  till  he  hoisted  his 
jib  and  floated  away  down  stream.  Then  the  spy  took 
horse  and  galloped  down  to  Fiumicino,  where  he  waited 
for  the  little  vessel,  boarded  her  from  a  boat,  escorted  by 
a  couple  of  gendarmes,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  taking 
the  letter  from  the  terrified  seaman,  who  was  glad  enough 
to  escape  without  detention.  During  the  next  fortnight 
several  letters  were  stopped  in  this  way,  carried  by  dif 
ferent  sailors,  and  the  whole  correspondence  went  straight 


SARACINESCA.  425 

to  the  Cardinal.  It  was  not  often  that  he  troubled  him 
self  to  play  the  detective  in  person,  but  when  he  did  so, 
he  was  not  easily  baffled.  And  now  he  observed  that 
about  a  week  after  the  interception  of  the  first  letter  the 
small  drafts  which  used  to  come  so  frequently  to  Del 
Ferice's  address  from  Florence  suddenly  ceased,  proving 
beyond  a  doubt  that  each  letter  was  paid  for  according 
to  its  value  so  soon  as  it  was  received. 

With  regard  to  the  contents  of  these  epistles  little 
need  be  said.  So  sure  was  Del  Ferice  of  his  means  of 
transmission  that  he  did  not  even  use  a  cipher,  though 
he,  of  course,  never  signed  any  of  his  writings.  The 
matter  was  invariably  a  detailed  chronicle  of  E-oman 
sayings  and  doings,  a  record  as  minute  as  Del  Ferice 
could  make  it,  of  everything  that  took  place,  and  even  the 
Cardinal  himself  was  astonished  at  the  accuracy  of  the 
information  thus  conveyed.  His  own  appearances  in 
public — the  names  of  those  with  whom  he  talked — even 
fragments  of  his  conversation — were  given  with  annoying 
exactness.  The  statesman  learned  with  infinite  disgust 
that  he  had  for  some  time  past  been  subjected  to  a  system 
of  espionage  at  least  as  complete  as  any  of  his  own  inven 
tion  ;  and,  what  was  still  more  annoying  to  his  vanity, 
the  spy  was  the  man  of  all  others  whom  he  had  most 
despised,  calling  him  harmless  and  weak,  because  he  cun 
ningly  affected  weakness.  Where  or  how  Del  Ferice 
procured  so  much  information  the  Cardinal  cared  little 
enough,  for  he  determined  there  and  then  that  he  should 
procure  no  more.  That  there  were  other  traitors  in  the 
camp  was  more  than  likely,  and  that  they  had  aided  Del 
Ferice  with  their  counsels ;  but  though  by  prolonging  the 
situation  it  might  be  possible  to  track  them  down,  such 
delay  would  be  valuable  to  enemies  abroad.  Moreover, 
if  Del  Ferice  began  to  find  out,  as  he  soon  must,  that  his 
private  correspondence  was  being  .overhauled  at  the 
Vatican,  he  was  not  a  man  to  hesitate  about  attempting 
his  escape  ;  and  he  would  certainly  not  be  an  easy  man 
to  catch,  if  he  could  once  succeed  in  putting  a  few  miles 


426  .  SABACINESCA. 

of  Campagna  between  himself  and  Rome.  There  was  no 
knowing  what  disguise  he  might  not  find  in  which  to  slip 
over  the  frontier ;  and  indeed,  as  he  afterwards  proved, 
he  was  well  prepared  for  such  an  emergency. 

The  Cardinal  did  not  hesitate.  He  had  just  received 
the  fourth  letter,  and  if  he  waited  any  longer  Del  Ferice 
would  take  alarm,  and  slip  through  his  fingers.  He  wrote 
with  his  own  hand  a  note  to  the  chief  of  police,  ordering 
the  immediate  arrest  of  Ugo  dei  Conti  del  Fence,  with 
instructions  that  he  should  be  taken  in  his  own  house, 
without  any  publicity,  and  conveyed  in  a  private  car 
riage  to  the  Sant'  Uffizio  by  men  in  plain  clothes.  It  was 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  he  wrote  the  order,  and 
delivered  it  to  his  private  servant  to  be  taken  to  its  des 
tination.  The  man  lost  no  time,  and  within  twenty 
minutes  the  chief  of  police  was  in  possession  of  his 
orders,  which  he  hastened  to  execute  with  all  possible 
speed.  Before  seven  o'clock  two  respectable-looking 
citizens  were  seated  in  the  chief's  own  carriage,  driving 
rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Del  Ferice's  house.  In  less 
than  half  an  hour  the  man  who  had  caused  so  much 
trouble  would  be  safely  lodged  in  the  prisons  of  the  Holy 
Office,  to  be  judged  for  his  sins  as  a  political  spy.  In  a 
fortnight  he  was  to  have  been  married  to  Donna  Tullia 
Mayer, — and  her  trousseau  had  just  arrived  from  Paris. 

It  can  hardly  be  said  that  the  Cardinal's  conduct  was 
unjustifiable,  though  many  will  say  that  Del  Ferice's  secret 
doings  were  easily  defensible  on  the  ground  of  his  patriot 
ism.  Cardinal  Antonelli  had  precisely  defined  the  situa 
tion  in  his  talk  with  Anastase  Gouache  by  saying  that  the 
temporal  power  was  driven  to  bay.  To  all  appearances 
Europe  was  at  peace,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  the  peace  was 
but  an  armed  neutrality.  An  amount  of  interest  was  con 
centrated  upon  the  situation  of  the  Papal  States  which  has 
rarely  been  excited  by  events  of  much  greater  apparent 
importance  than  the  occupation  of  a  small  principality  by 
foreign  troops.  All  Europe  was  arming.  In  a  few  months 
Austria  was  to  sustain  one  of  the  most  sudden  and  over- 


SAKACINESCA.  427 

whelming  defeats  recorded  in  military  history.  In  a  few 
years  the  greatest  military  power  in  the  world  was  to  be 
overtaken  by  an  even  more  appalling  disaster.  And  these 
events,  then  close  at  hand,  were  to  deal  the  death-blow  to 
papal  independence.  The  papacy  was  driven  to  bay,  and 
those  to  whom  the  last  defence  was  confided  were  certainly 
justified  in  employing  every  means  in  their  power  for 
strengthening  their  position.  That  Rome  herself  was 
riddled  with  rotten  conspiracies,  and  turned  into  a  hunt 
ing-ground  for  political  spies,  while  the  support  she  re 
ceived  from  Louis  Napoleon  had  been  already  partially 
withdrawn,  proves  only  how  hard  was  the  task  of  that 
man  who,  against  s*uch  odds,  maintained  so  gallant  a  fight. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  he  hunted  down  spies,  and  signed 
orders  forcing  suspicious  characters  to  leave  the  city  at  a 
day's  notice ;  for  the  city  was  practically  in  a  state  of 
siege,  and  any  relaxation  of  the  iron  discipline  by  which 
the  great  Cardinal  governed  would  at  any  moment  in  those 
twenty  years  have  proved  disastrous.  He  was  hated  and 
feared ;  more  than  once  he  was  in  imminent  danger  of  his 
life,  but  he  did  his  duty  in  his  post.  Had  his  authority 
fallen,  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  evil  might  have  ensued 
to  the  city  and  its  inhabitants — evils  vastly  more  to  be 
feared  than  the  entrance  of  an  orderly  Italian  army  through 
the  Porta  Pia.  For  the  recollections  of  Count  Kossi's 
murder,  and  of  the  short  and  lawless  Republic  of  1848, 
were  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the  people,  and  before  they  had 
faded  there  were  dangerous  rumours  of  a  rising  even  less 
truly  Republican  in  theory,  and  far  more  fatal  in  the  prac 
tical  social  anarchy  which  must  have  resulted  from  its 
success.  Giuseppe  Mazzini  had  survived  his  arch-enemy, 
the  great  Cavour,  and  his  influence  was  incalculable. 

But  my  business  is  not  to  write  the  history  of  those 
uncertain  days,  though  no  one  who  considers  the  social 
life  of  Rome,  either  then  or  now,  can  afford  to  overlook 
the  influence  of  political  events  upon  the  everyday  doings 
of  men  and  women.  We  must  follow  the  private  carriage 
containing  the  two  respectable  citizens  who  were  on  their 
way  to  Del  Ferice's  house. 


428  SAKACINESCA. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Now  it  chanced  that  Del  Ferice  was  not  at  home  at  the 
hour  when  the  carriage  containing  the  detectives  drew  up 
at  his  door.  Indeed  he  was  rarely  to  be  found  at  that 
time,  for  when  he  was  not  engaged  elsewhere,  he  dined 
with  Donna  Tullia  and  her  old  countess,  accompanying 
them  afterwards  to  any  of  the  quiet  Lenten  receptions  to 
which  they  desired  to  go.  Temistocle  was  also  out,  for  it 
was  his  hour  for  supper,  a  meal  which  he  generally  ate  in 
a  small  osteria  opposite  his  master's  lodging.  There  he 
sat  now,  finishing  his  dish  of  beans  and  oil,  and  debating 
whether  he  should  indulge  himself  in  another  mezza  fogli- 
etta  of  his  favourite  white  wine.  He  was  installed  upon 
the  wooden  bench  against  the  wall,  behind  the  narrow 
table  on  which  was  spread  a  dirty  napkin  with  the  remains 
of  his  unctuous  meal.  The  light  from  the  solitary  oil- 
lamp  that  hung  from  the  black  ceiling  was  not  brilliant, 
and  he  could  see  well  enough  through  the  panes  of  the 
glass  door  that  the  carriage  which  had  just  stopped  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  was  not  a  cab.  Suspecting 
that  some  one  had  called  at  that  unusual  hour  in  search 
of  his  master,  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  went  out. 

He  stood  looking  at  the  carriage.  It  did  not  please 
him.  It  had  that  peculiar  look  which  used  to  mark  the 
equipages  of  the  Vatican,  and  which  to  this  day  distin 
guishes  them  from  all  others  in  the  eyes  of  a  born 
Roman.  The  vehicle  was  of  rather  antiquated  shape, 
the  horses  were  black,  the  coachman  wore  a  plain  black 
coat,  with  a  somewhat  old-fashioned  hat;  withal,  the 
turnout  was  respectable  enough,  and  well  kept.  But  it 
did  not  please  Temistocle.  Drawing  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  he  passed  behind  it,  and  having  ascertained  that 
the  occupants,  if  there  had  been  any,  had  already  en 
tered  the  house,  he  himself  went  in.  The  narrow  stair 
case  was  dimly  lighted  by  small  oil-lamps.  Temistocle 


SARACINESCA.  429 

ascended  the  steps  on  tiptoe,  for  he  could  already  hear 
the  men  ringing  the  bell,  and  talking  together  in  a  low 
voice.  The  Neapolitan  crept  nearer.  Again  and  again 
the  bell  was  rung,  and  the  men  began  to  grow  impatient. 

"  He  has  escaped,"  said  one  angrily. 

"  Perhaps — or  he  has  gone  out  to  dinner — much  more 
likely." 

"  We  had  better  go  away  and  come  later,"  suggested 
the  first. 

"  He  is  sure  to  come  home.  We  had  better  wait.  The 
orders  are  to  take  him  in  his  lodgings." 

"  We  might  go  into  the  osteria  opposite  and  drink  a 
foglietta." 

"No,"  said  the  other,  who  seemed  to  be  the  one  in 
authority.  "  We  must  wait  here,  if  we  wait  till  midnight. 
Those  are  the  orders." 

The  second  detective  grumbled  something  not  clearly 
audible,  and  silence  ensued.  But  Temistocle  had  heard 
quite  enough.  He  was  a  quick-witted  fellow,  as  has  been 
seen,  much  more  anxious  for  his  own  interests  than  for  his 
master's,  though  he  had  hitherto  found  it  easy  to  consult 
both.  Indeed,  in  a  certain  way  he  was  faithful  to  Del 
Ferice,  and  admired  him  as  a  soldier  admires  his  general. 
The  resolution  he  now  formed  did  honour  to  his  loyalty  to 
Ugo  and  to  his  thievish  instincts.  He  determined  to  save 
his  master  if  he  could,  and  to  rob  him  at  his  leisure  after 
wards.  If  Del  Ferice  failed  to  escape,  he  would  probably 
reward  Temistocle  for  having  done  his  best  to  help  him ; 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  he  got  away,  Temistocle  had  the  key 
of  his  lodgings,  and  would  help  himself.  But  there  was 
one  difficulty  in  the  way.  Del  Ferice  was  in  evening  dress 
at  the  house  of  Donna  Tullia.  In  such  a  costume  he 
would  have  no  chance  of  passing  the  gates,  which  in  those 
days  were  closed  and  guarded  all  night.  Del  Ferice  was  a 
cautious  man,  and,  like  many  another  in  those  days,  kept 
in  his  rooms  a  couple  of  disguises  which  might  serve  if  he 
was  hard  pressed.  His  ready  money  he  always  carried 

with  him,  because  he  frequently  went  into  the  club  before 
Vol.  10—19 


4SO  SARACINESCA. 

coming  home,  and  played  a  game  of  ecarte,  in  which  he 
was  usually  lucky.  The  question  was  how  to  enter  the 
lodgings,  to  get  possession  of  the  necessary  clothes,  and 
to  go  out  again,  without  exciting  the  suspicions  of  the 
detectives. 

Temistocle's  mind  was  soon  made  up.  He  crept  softly 
down  the  stairs,  so  as  not  to  appear  to  have  been  too  near, 
and  then,  making  as  much  noise  as  he  could,  ascended 
boldly,  drawing  the  key  of  the  lodgings  from  his  pocket  as 
he  reached  the  landing  where  the  two  men  stood  under  the 
little  oil-lamp. 

" Buona  sera,  signori"  he  said,  politely,  thrusting  the 
key  into  the  lock  without  hesitation.  "  Did  you  wish  to 
see  the  Conte  del  Ferice  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  the  elder  man,  affecting  an  urbane 
manner.  "  Is  the  Count  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  returned  the  Neapolitan.  "  But 
I  will  see.  Come  in,  gentlemen.  He  will  not  be  long — 
sempre  verso  quest'ora — he  always  comes  home  about  this 
time." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  detective.  "  If  you  will  allow 
us  to  wait " 

"  Altro — what  ?  Should  I  leave  the  padrone's  friends 
on  the  stairs  ?  Come  in,  gentlemen — sit  down.  It  is 
dark.  I  will  light  the  lamp."  And  striking  a  match, 
Temistocle  lit  a  couple  of  candles  and  placed  them  upon 
the  table  of  the  small  sitting-room  The  two  men  -sat 
down,  holding  their  hats  upon  their  knees. 

"If  you  will  excuse  me,"  said  Temistocle,  "I  will  go  and 
make  the  signore's  coffee.  He  dines  at  the  restaurant,  and 
always  comes  home  for  his  coffee.  Perhaps  the  signori  will 
also  take  a  cup  ?  It  is  the  same  to  make  three  as  one." 

But  the  men  thanked  Temistocle,  and  said  they  wanted 
none,  which  was  just  as  well,  since  Temistocle  had  no  idea 
of  giving  them  any.  He  retired,  however,  to  the  small 
kitchen  which  belongs  to  every  Roman  lodging,  and  made 
a  great  clattering  with  the  coffee-pot.  Presentty  he  slipped 
into  Del  Fence's  bedroom,  and  extracted  from  a  dark  corner 


SAKACINESCA.  431 

a  shabby  black  bag,  which  he  took  back  with  him  into  the 
kitchen.  From  the  kitchen  window  ran  the  usual  iron  wire 
to  the  well  in  the  small  court,  bearing  an  iron  traveller  with 
a  rope  for  drawing  water.  Temistocle,  clattering  loudly, 
hooked  the  bag  to  the  traveller  and  let  it  run  down  noisily ; 
then  he  tied  the  rope  and  went  out.  He  had  carefully 
closed  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  but  he  had  been  careful 
to  leave  the  door  which  opened  upon  the  stairs  unlatched. 
He  crept  noiselessly  out,  and  leaving  the  door  still  open, 
rushed  down-stairs,  turned  into  the  little  court,  unhooked 
his  bag  from  the  rope,  and  taking  it  in  his  hand,  passed 
quietly  out  into  the  street.  The  coachman  was  dozing  upon 
the  box  of  the  carriage  which  still  waited  before  the  door, 
and  would  not  have  noticed  Temistocle  had  he  been  awake. 
In  a  moment  more  the  Neapolitan  was  beyond  pursuit.  In 
the  Piazza  di  Spagna  he  hailed  a  cab  and  drove  rapidly  to 
Donna  Tullia's  house,  where  he  paid  the  man  and  sent  him 
away.  The  servants  knew  him  well  enough,  for  scarcely 
a  day  passed  without  his  bringing  some  note  or  message 
from  his  master  to  Madame  Mayer.  He  sent  in  to  say  that 
he  must  speak  to  his  master  on  business.  Del  Ferice  came 
out  hastily  in  considerable  agitation,  which  was  by  no 
means  diminished  by  the  sight  of  the  well-known  shabby 
black  bag. 

Temistocle  glanced  round  the  hall  to  see  that  they  were 
alone. 

"The  forza — the  police,"  he  whispered,  "are  in  the 
house,  Eccellenza.  Here  is  the  bag.  Save  yourself,  for 
the  love  of  heaven !  " 

Del  Fence  turned  ghastly  pale,  and  his  face  twitched 
nervously. 

"  But "  he  began,  and  then  staggering  back  leaned 

against  the  wall. 

"  Quick — fly ! "  urged  Temistocle,  shaking  him  roughly 
by  the  arm.  "  It  is  the  Holy  Office — you  have  time.  I 
told  them  you  would  be  back,  and  they  are  waiting  quietly 
— they  will  wait  all  night.  Here  is  your  overcoat,"  he 
added,  almost  forcing  his  master  into  the  garment — "  and 


432  SARACINESCA. 

your  hat — here !  Come  along,  there  is  no  time  to  lose. 
I  will  take  you  to  a  place  where  you  can  dress." 

Del  Ferice  submitted  almost  blindly.  By  especial 
good  fortune  the  footman  did  not  come  out  into  the  hall. 
Donna  Tullia  and  her  guests  had  finished  dinner,  and  the 
servants  had  retired  to  theirs  ;  indeed  the  footman  had 
complained  to  Temistocle  of  being  called  away  from  his 
meal  to  open  the  door.  The  Neapolitan  pushed  his  master 
out  upon  the  stairs,  urging  him  to  use  all  speed.  As  the 
two  men  hurried  along  the  dark  street  they  conversed  in 
low  tones.  Del  Ferice  was  trembling  in  every  joint. 

"  But  Donna  Tullia,"  he  almost  whined.  "  I  cannot 
leave  her  so — she  must  know " 

"  Save  your  own  skin  from  the  Holy  Office,  master," 
answered  Temistocle,  dragging  him  along  as  fast  as  he 
could.  "  I  will  go  back  and  tell  your  lady,  never  fear. 
She  will  leave  Rome  to-morrow.  Of  course  you  will  go 
to  Naples.  She  will  follow  you.  She  will  be  there  before 
you." 

Del  Ferice  mumbled  an  unintelligible  answer.  His 
teeth  were  chattering  with  cold  and  fear ;  but  as  he  began 
to  realise  his  extreme  peril,  terror  lent  wings  to  his  heels, 
and  he  almost  outstripped  the  nimble  Temistocle  in  the 
race  for  safety.  They  reached  at  last  the  ruined  part 
of  the  city  near  the  Porta  Maggiore,  and  in  the  shadow 
of  the  deep  archway  where  the  road  branches  to  the 
right  towards  Santa  Croce  in  Gerusalemme,  Temistocle 
halted. 

"Here,"  he  said,  shortly.  Del  Ferice  said  never  a 
word,  but  began  to  undress  himself  in  the  dark.  It  was 
a  gloomy  and  lowering  night,  the  roads  were  muddy,  and 
from  time  to  time  a  few  drops  of  cold  rain  fell  silently, 
portending  a  coming  storm.  In  a  few  moments  the  trans 
formation  was  complete,  and  Del  Ferice  stood  by  his  ser 
vant's  side  in  the  shabby  brown  cowl  and  rope-girdle  of 
a  Capuchin  monk. 

"Now  comes  the  hard  part,"  said  Temistocle,  produc 
ing  a  razor  and  a  pair  of  scissors  from  the  bottom  of  the 


SABACINESCA.  433 

bag.  Del  Ferice  had  too  often  contemplated  the  possi 
bility  of  flight  to  have  omitted  so  important  a  detail. 

"  You  cannot  see — you  will  cut  my  throat/'  he  mur 
mured  plaintively. 

But  the  fellow  was  equal  to  the  emergency.  Retiring 
deeper  into  the  recess  of  the  arch,  he  lit  a  cigar,  and  hold 
ing  it  between  his  teeth,  puffed  violently  at  it,  producing  a 
feeble  light  by  which  he  could  just  see  his  master's  face. 
He  was  in  the  habit  of  shaving  him,  and  had  no  difficulty 
in  removing  the  fair  moustache  from  his  upper  lip.  Then, 
making  him  hold  his  head  down,  and  puffing  harder  than 
ever,  he  cropped  his  thin  hair,  and  managed  to  make  a 
tolerably  respectable  tonsure.  But  the  whole  operation 
had  consumed  half  an  hour  at  the  least,  and  Del  Ferice 
was  trembling  still.  Temistocle  thrust  the  clothes  into 
his  bag. 

"My  watch!"  objected  the  unfortunate  man,  "and 
my  pearl  studs — give  them  to  me — what  ?  You  villain  ! 
you  thief !  you " 

"  No  chiacchiere,  no  talk,  padrone,"  interrupted  Temis 
tocle,  snapping  the  lock  of  the  bag.  "If  you  chance  to 
be  searched,  it  would  ill  become  a  mendicant  friar  to  be 
carrying  gold  watches  and  pearl  studs.  I  will  give  them 
to  Donna  Tullia  this  very  evening.  You  have  money — 
you  can  say  that  you  are  taking  that  to  your  convent." 

"  Swear  to  give  the  watch  to  Donna  Tullia,"  said  Del 
Ferice.  Whereupon  Temistocle  swore  a  terrible  oath, 
which  he  did  not  fail  to  break,  of  course.  But  his  mas 
ter  had  to  be  satisfied,  and  when  all  was  completed  the 
two  parted  company. 

"  I  will  ask  Donna  Tullia  -to  take  me  to  Naples  on  her 
passport,"  said  the  Neapolitan. 

"Take  care  of  my  things,  Temistocle.  Burn  all  the 
papers  if  you  can — though  I  suppose  the  sbirri  have  got 
them  by  this  time.  Bring  my  clothes — if  you  steal  any 
thing,  remember  there  are  knives  in  Borne,  and  I  know 
where  to  write  to  have  them  used."  Whereat  Temistocle 
broke  into  a  torrent  of  protestations.  How  could  his 


434  SARACINESCA. 

master  think  that,  after  saving  him  at  such  risk,  his 
faithful  servant  would  plunder  him  ? 

"  Well,"  said  Del  Ferice,  thoughtfully,  "  you  are  a  great 
scoundrel,  you  know.  But  you  have  saved  me,  as  you  say. 
There  is  a  scudo  for  you." 

Temistocle  never  refused  anything.  He  took  the  coin, 
kissed  his  master's  hand  as  a  final  exhibition  of  servility, 
and  turned  back  towards  the  city  without  another  word. 
Del  Ferice  shuddered,  and  drew  his  heavy  cowl  over  his 
head  as  he  began -to  walk  quickly  towards  the  Porta  Mag- 
giore.  Then  he  took  the  inside  road,  skirting  the  walls 
through  the  mud  to  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo.  He  was  per 
fectly  safe  in  his  disguise.  He  had  dined  abundantly,  he 
had  money  in  his  pocket,  and  he  had  escaped  the  clutches 
of  the  Holy  Office.  A  barefooted  friar  might  walk  for 
days  unchallenged  through  the  Koman  Campagna  and  the 
neighbouring  hills,  and  it  was  not  far  to  the  south-eastern, 
frontier.  He  did  not  know  the  way  beyond  Tivoli,  but  he 
could  inquire  without  exciting  the  least  suspicion.  There 
are  few  disguises  more  complete  than  the  garb  of  a  Capu 
chin  monk,  and  Del  Ferice  had  long  contemplated  playing 
the  part,  for  it  was  one  which  eminently  suited  him.  His 
face,  much  thinner  now  than  formerly,  was  yet  naturally 
round,  and  without  his  moustache  would  certainly  pass  for 
a  harmless  clerical  visage.  He  had  received  an  excellent 
education,  and  knew  vastly  more  Latin  than  the  majority 
of  mendicant  monks.  As  a  good  Koman  he  was  well  ac 
quainted  with  every  convent  in  the  city,  and  knew  the 
names  of  all  the  chief  dignitaries  of  the  Capuchin  order. 
When  a  lad  he  had  frequently  served  at  Mass,  and  was 
acquainted  with  most  of  the  .ordinary  details  of  monastic 
life.  The  worst  that  could  happen  to  him  might  be  to  be 
called  upon  in  the  course  of  his  travels  to  hear  the  dying 
confession  of  some  poor  wretch  who  had  been  stabbed 
after  a  game  of  mora.  His  case  was  altogether  not  so  bad 
as  might  seem,  considering  the  far  greater  evils  he  had 
escaped. 

At  the  Porta  San  Lorenzo  the  gates  were  closed  as 


SARACINESCA.  435 

usual,  but  the  dozing  watchman  let  Del  Ferice  out  of  the 
small  door  without  remark.  Any  one  might  leave  the 
city,  though  it  required  a  pass  to  gain  admittance  during 
the  night.  The  heavily-ironed  oak  clanged  behind  the 
fugitive,  and  he  breathed  more  freely  as  he  stepped  upon 
the  road  to  Tivoli.  In  an  hour  he  had  crossed  the  Ponte 
Mammolo,  shuddering  as  he  looked  down  through  the  deep 
gloom  at  the  white  foam  of  the  Teverone,  swollen  with 
the  winter  rains.  But  the  fear  of  the  Holy  Office  was 
behind  him,  and  he  hurried  on  his  lonely  way,  walking 
painfully  in  the  sandals  he  had  been  obliged  to  put  on 
to  complete  his  disguise,  sinking  occasionally  ankle-deep 
in  mud,  and  then  trudging  over  a  long  stretch  of  broken 
stones  where  the  road  had  been  mended ;  but  not  notic 
ing  nor  caring  for  pain  and  fatigue,  while  he  felt  that 
every  minute  took  him  nearer  to  the  frontier  hills  where 
he  would  be  safe  from  pursuit.  And  so  he  toiled  on,  till 
he  smelled  the  fetid  air  of  the  sulphur  springs  full  four 
teen  miles  from  Rome ;  and  at  last,  as  the  road  began  to 
rise  towards  Hadrian's  Villa,  he  sat  down  upon  a  stone 
by  the  wayside  to  rest  a  little.  He  had  walked  five  hours 
through  the  darkness,  seeing  but  a  few  yards  of  the  broad 
road  before  him  as  he  went.  He  was  weary  and  footsore, 
and  the  night  was  growing  wilder  with  gathering  wind 
and  rain  as  the  storm  swept  down  the  mountains  and 
through  the  deep  gorge  of  Tivoli  on  its  way  to  the  deso 
late  black  Campagna.  He  felt  that  if  he  did  not  die  of 
exposure  he  was  safe,  and  to  a  man  in  his  condition  bad 
weather  is  the  least  of  evils. 

His  reflections  were  not  sweet.  Five  hours  earlier  he 
had  been  dressed  as  a  fine  gentleman  should  be,  seated  at 
a  luxurious  table  in  the  company  of  a  handsome  and 
amusing  woman  who  was  to  be  his  wife.  He  could  still 
almost  taste  the  delicate  chaudfroid,  the  tender  woodcock, 
the  dry  champagne;  he  could  still  almost  hear  Donna 
Tullia's  last  noisy  sally  ringing  in  his  ears — and  behold, 
he  was  now  sitting  by  the  roadside  in  the  rain,  in  the 
wretched  garb  of  a  begging  monk,  five  hours'  journey  from 


436  SABACINESCA. 

Rome.  He  had  left  his  affianced  bride  without  a  word  of 
warning,  had  abandoned  all  his  possessions  to  Temistocle 
— that  scoundrelly  thief  Temistocle  ! — and  he  was  utterly 
alone. 

But  as  he  rested  himself,  drawing  his  monk's  hood 
closely  over  his  head  and  trying  to  warm  his  freezing 
feet  with  the  skirts  of  his  rough  brown  frock,  he  reflected 
that  if  he  ever  got  safely  across  the  frontier  he  would  be 
treated  as  a  patriot,  as  a  man  who  had  suffered  for  the 
cause,  and  certainly  as  a  man  who  deserved  to  be  rewarded. 
He  reflected  that  Donna  Tullia  was  a  woman  who  had  a 
theatrical  taste  for  romance,  and  that  his  present  position 
was  in  theory  highly  romantic,  however  uncomfortable  it 
might  be  in  the  practice.  When  he  was  safe  his  story 
would  be  told  in  the  newspapers,  and  he  would  himself 
take  care  that  it  was  made  interesting.  Donna  Tullia 
would  read  it,  would  be  fascinated  by  the  tale  of  his 
sufferings,  and  would  follow  him.  His  marriage  with  her 
would  then  add  immense  importance  to  his  own  position. 
He  would  play  his  cards  well,  and  with  her  wealth  at  his 
disposal  he  might  aspire  to  any  distinction  he  coveted. 
He  only  wished  the  situation  could  have  been  prolonged 
for  three  weeks,  till  he  was  actually  married.  Meanwhile 
he  must  take  courage  and  push  on,  beyond  the  reach  of 
pursuit.  If  once  he  could  gain  Subiaco,  he  could  be  over 
the  frontier  in  twelve  hours.  From  Tivoli  there  were 
vetture  up  the  valley,  cheap  conveyances  for  the  country 
people,  in  which  a  barefooted  friar  could  travel  unnoticed. 
He  knew  that  he  must  cross  the  boundary  by  Trevi  and 
the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio.  He  would  inquire  the  way 
from  Subiaco. 

While  Del  Ferice  was  thus  making  his  way  across  the 
Campagna,  Temistocle  was  taking  measures  for  his  own 
advantage  and  safety.  He  had  the  bag  with  his  master's 
clothes,  the  valuable  watch  and  chain,  and  the  pearl  studs. 
He  had  also  the  key  to  Del  Ferice's  lodgings,  of  which 
he  promised  himself  to  make  some  use,  as  soon  as  he 
should  be  sure  that  the  detectives  had  left  the  house, 


SARACINESCA.  437 

In  the  first  place  he  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  Donna 
Tullia  in  ignorance  of  his  master's  sudden  departure. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  telling  her  the  news, 
for  she  would  probably  in  her  rash  way  go  to  Del  Ferice's 
house  herself,  as  she  had  done  once  before,  and  on  finding 
he  was  actually  gone  she  would  take  charge  of  his  effects, 
whereby  Temistocle  would  be  the  loser.  As  he  walked 
briskly  away  from  the  ruinous  district  near  the  Porta 
Maggiore,  and  began  to  see  the  lights  of  the  city  gleam 
ing  before  him,  his  courage  rose  in  his  breast.  He  remem 
bered  how  easily  he  had  eluded  the  detectives  an  hour 
and  a  half  before,  and  he  determined  to  cheat  them 
again. 

But  he  had  reckoned  unwisely.  Before  he  had  been 
gone  ten  minutes  the  two  men  suspected,  from  the  pro 
longed  silence,  that  something  was  wrong,  and  after  search 
ing  the  lodging  perceived  that  the  polite  servant  who  had 
offered  them  coffee  had  left  the  house  without  taking 
leave.  One  of  the  two  immediately  drove  to  the  house 
of  his  chief  and  asked  for  instructions.  The  order  to 
arrest  the  servant  if  he  appeared  again  came  back  at  once. 
The  consequence  was  that  when  Temistocle  boldly  opened 
the  door  with  a  ready  framed  excuse  for  his  absence,  he 
was  suddenly  pinioned  by  four  strong  arms,  dragged  into 
the  sitting-room,  and  told  to  hold  his  tongue  in  the  name 
of  the  law.  And  that  is  the  last  that  was  heard  of  Temis 
tocle  for  some  time.  But  when  the  day  dawned  the  men 
knew  that  Del  Ferice  had  escaped  them. 

The  affair  had  not  been  well  managed.  The  Cardinal 
was  a  good  detective,  but  a  bad  policeman.  In  his  haste 
he  had  made  the  mistake  of  ordering  Del  Ferice  to  be 
arrested  instantly  and  in  his  lodgings.  Had  the  statesman 
simply  told  the  chief  of  police  to  secure  Ugo  as  soon  as 
possible  without  any  scandal,  he  could  not  have  escaped. 
But  the  officer  interpreted  the  Cardinal's  note  to  mean  that 
Del  Ferice  was  actually  at  his  lodgings  when  the  order  was 
given.  The  Cardinal  was  supposed  to  be  omniscient  by 
his  subordinates,  and  no  one  ever  thought  of  giving  any 


438  SARACINESCA. 

interpretation  not  perfectly  literal  to  his  commands.  Of 
course  the  Cardinal  was  at  once  informed,  and  telegrams 
and  mounted  detectives  were  dispatched  in  all  directions. 
But  Del  Ferice's  disguise  was  good,  and  when  just  after 
sunrise  a  gendarme  galloped  into  Tivoli,  he  did  not  suspect 
that  the  travel-stained  and  pale-faced  friar,  who  stood  tell 
ing  his  beads  before  the  shrine  just  outside  the  Eoman 
gate,  was  the  political  delinquent  whom  he  was  sent  to 
overtake. 

Donna  Tullia  spent  an  anxious  night.  She  sent  down  to 
Del  Ferice's  lodgings,  as  Temistocle  had  anticipated,  and  the 
servant  brought  back  word  that  he  had  not  seen  the  Neapol 
itan,  and  that  the  house  was  held  in  possession  by  strangers, 
who  refused  him  admittance.  Madame  Mayer  understood 
well  enough  what  had  happened,  and  began  to  tremble  for 
herself.  Indeed  she  began  to  think  of  packing  together  her 
own  valuables,  in  case  she  should  be  ordered  to  leave  Rome, 
for  she  did  not  doubt  that  the  Holy  Office  was  in  pursuit 
of  Del  Ferice,  in  consequence  of  some  discovery  relating  to 
her  little  club  of  malcontents.  She  trembled  for  Ugo  with 
an  anxiety  more  genuine  than  any  feeling  of  hers  had  been 
for  many  a  day,  not  knowing  whether  he  had  escaped  or 
not.  But  on  the  following  evening  she  was  partially  reas 
sured  by  hearing  from  Valdarno  that  the  police  had  offered 
a  large  reward  for  Del  Ferice's  apprehension.  Yaldarno 
declared  his  intention  of  leaving  Rome  at  once.  His  life, 
he  said,  was  not  safe  for  a  moment.  That  villain  Gouache, 
who  had  turned  Zouave,  had  betrayed  them  all,  and  they 
might  be  lodged  in  the  Sant'  Uffizio  any  day.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  after  he  discovered  how  egregiously  he  had 
been  deceived  by  Del  Ferice,  the  Cardinal  grew  more  sus 
picious,  and  his  emissaries  were  more  busy  than  they  had 
been  before.  But  Valdarno  had  never  manifested  enough 
wisdom,  nor  enough  folly,  to  make  him  a  cause  of  anxiety 
to  the  Prime  Minister.  Nevertheless  he  actually  left 
Rome  and  spent  a  long  time  in  Paris  before  he  was  in 
duced  to  believe  that  he  might  safely  return  to  his  home. 

Roman  society  was  shaken  to  its  foundations  by  the 


SARACINESCA.  439 

news  of  the  attempted  arrest,  and  Donna  Tullia  found 
some  slight  compensation  in  becoming  for  a  time  the 
centre  of  interest.  She  felt,  indeed,  great  anxiety  for 
the  man  she  was  engaged  to  marry ;  but  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life  she  felt  also  that  she  was  living  in  an  element 
of  real  romance,  of  which  she  had  long  dreamed,  but  of 
which  she  had  never  found  the  smallest  realisation.  So 
ciety  saw,  and  speculated,  and  gossiped,  after  its  fashion ; 
but  its  gossip  was  more  subdued  than  of  yore,  for  men 
began  to  ask  who  was  safe,  since  the  harmless  Del  Ferice 
had  been  proscribed.  Old  Saracinesca  said  little.  He 
would  have  gone  to  see  the  Cardinal  and  to  offer  him  his 
congratulations,  since  it  would  not  be  decent  to  offer 
his  thanks ;  but  the  Cardinal  was  not  in  a  position  to  be 
congratulated.  If  he  had  caught  Del  Ferice  he  would 
have  thanked  the  Prince  instead  of  waiting  for  any  ex 
pressions  of  gratitude ;  but  he  did  not  catch  Del  Ferice, 
for  certain  very  good  reasons  which  will  appear  in  the 
last  scene  of  this  comedy. 

Three  days  after  Ugo's  disappearance,  the  old  Prince 
got  into  his  carriage  and  drove  out  to  Saracinesca.  More 
than  a  month  had  elapsed  since  the  marriage,  and  he  felt 
that  he  must  see  his  son,  even  at  the  risk  of  interrupt 
ing  the  honeymoon.  On  the  whole,  he  felt  that  his  re 
venge  had  been  inadequate.  Del  Ferice  had  escaped  the 
Holy  Office,  no  one  knew  how ;  and  Donna  Tullia,  instead 
of  being  profoundly  humiliated,  as  she  would  have  been 
had  Del  Ferice  been  tried  as  a  common  spy,  was  become 
a  centre  of  attraction  and  interest,  because  her  affianced 
husband  had  for  some  unknown  cause  incurred  the  dis 
pleasure  of  the  great  Cardinal,  almost  on  the  eve  of  her 
marriage — a  state  of  things  significant  as  regards  the  tone 
of  Eoman  society.  Indeed  the  whole  circumstance,  which 
was  soon  bruited  about  among  all  classes  with  the  most 
lively  adornment  and  exaggeration,  tended  greatly  to  in 
crease  the  fear  and  hatred  which  high  and  low  alike 
felt  for  Cardinal  Antonelli — the  man  who  was  always  ac 
cused  and  never  heard  in  his  own  defence. 


440  SAEACINESCA. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

People  wondered  that  Giovanni  and  Corona  should  have 
chosen  to  retire  into  the  country  for  their  honeymoon,  in 
stead  of  travelling  to  France  and  England,  and  ending 
their  wedding-trip  in  Switzerland.  The  hills  were  so  very 
cold  at  that  early  season,  and  besides,  they  would  be  ut 
terly  alone.  People  could  not  understand  why  Corona 
did  not  take  advantage  of  the  termination  of  her  widow 
hood  to  mix  at  once  with  the  world,  and  indemnify  herself 
for  the  year  of  mourning  by  a  year  of  unusual  gaiety.  But 
there  were  many,  on  the  other  hand,  who  loudly  applauded 
the  action,  which,  it  was  maintained,  showed  a  wise  spirit 
of  economy,  and  contrasted  very  favourably  with  the  ex 
travagance  recently  exhibited  by  young  couples  who  in 
reality  had  far  more  cause  to  be  careful  of  their  money. 
Those  who  held  this  view  belonged  to  the  old,  patriarchal 
class,  the  still  flourishing  remnant  of  the  last  generation, 
who  prided  themselves  upon  good  management,  good 
morals,  and  ascetic  living ;  the  class  of  people  in  whose 
marriage-contracts  it  was  stipulated  that  the  wife  was  to 
have  meat  twice  a-day,  excepting  on  fast  days,  a  drive — 
the  trottata,  as  it  used  to  be  called — daily,  and  two  new 
gowns  every  year.  Even  in  our  times,  when  most  of  that 
generation  are  dead,  these  clauses  are  often  introduced ; 
in  the  first  half  of  the  century  they  were  universal.  A 
little  earlier  it  used  to  be  stipulated  that  the  "  meat "  was 
not  to  be  copra,  goafs-flesh,  which  was  considered  to  be 
food  fit  only  for  servants.  But  the  patriarchal  generation 
were  a  fine  old  class  in  spite  of  their  economy,  and  they 
loudly  aplauded  Giovanni's  conduct. 

No  one,  however,  understood  that  the  solitude  of  Sara- 
cinesca  was  really  the  greatest  luxury  the  newly-married 
couple  could  desire.  They  wanted  to  be  left  alone,  and  they 
got  their  wish.  No  one  had  known  of  the  preparations 
Giovanni  had  made  for  his  wife's  reception,  and  had  any 


SAEACINESCA.  441 

idea  of  the  changes  in  the  castle  reached  the  ears  of  the 
aforesaid  patriarchs,  they  would  probably  have  changed 
their  minds  in  regard  to  Giovanni's  economy.  The  Sara- 
cinesca  were  not  ostentatious,  but  they  spent  their  money 
royally  in  their  own  quiet  way,  and  the  interior  of  the  old 
stronghold  had  undergone  a  complete  transformation,  while 
the  ancient  grey  stones  of  the  outer  walls  and  towers 
frowned  as  gloomily  as  ever  upon  the  valley.  Vast  halls 
had  been  decorated  and  furnished  in  a  style  suited  to  the 
antiquity  of  the  fortress,  small  sunny  rooms  had  been  fitted 
up  with  the  more  refined  luxury  which  was  beginning  to 
be  appreciated  in  Italy  twenty  years  ago.  A  great  con 
servatory  had  been  built  out  upon  the  southern  battlement. 
The  aqueduct  had  been  completed  successfully,  and  foun 
tains  now  played  in  the  courts.  The  old-fashioned  fire 
places  had  been  again  put  into  use,  and  huge  logs  burned 
upon  huge  fire-dogs  in  the  halls,  shedding  a  ruddy  glow 
upon  the  trophies  of  old  armour,  the  polished  floors,  and 
the  heavy  curtains.  Quantities  of  magnificent  tapestry, 
some  of  which  had  been  produced  when  Corona  first 
visited  the  castle,  were  now  hung  upon  the  stairs  and  in 
the  corridors.  The  great  baldacchino,  the  canopy  which 
Roman  princes  are  privileged  to  display  in  their  ante 
chambers,  was  draped  above  the  quartered  arms  of  Sara- 
cinesca  and  Astrardente,  and  the  same  armorial  bearings 
appeared  in  rich  stained  glass  in  the  window  of  the  grand 
staircase.  The  solidity  and  rare  strength  of  the  ancient 
stronghold  seemed  to  grow  even  more  imposing  under  the 
decorations  and  improvements  of  a  later  age,  and  for  the 
first  time  Giovanni  felt  that  justice  had  been  done  to 
the  splendour  of  his  ancestral  home. 

Here  he  and  his  dark  bride  dwelt  in  perfect  unity  and 
happiness,  in  the  midst  of  their  own  lands,  surrounded  by 
their  own  people,  and  wholly  devoted  to  each  other.  But 
though  much  of  the  day  was  passed  in  that  unceasing  con 
versation  and  exchange  of  ideas  which  seem  to  belong  ex 
clusively  to  happily-wedded  man  and  wife,  the  hours  were 
not  wholly  idle.  Daily  the  two  mounted  their  horses  and 


442  SARACINESCA. 

rode  along  the  level  stretch  towards  Aquaviva  till  they 
came  to  the  turning  from  which  Corona  had  first  caught 
sight  of  Saracinesca.  Here  a  broad  road  was  already 
broken  out ;  the  construction  was  so  far  advanced  that  two 
miles  at  least  were  already  serviceable,  the  gentle  grade 
winding  backwards  and  forwards,  crossing  and  recrossing 
the  old  bridle-path  as  it  descended  to  the  valley  below  ; 
and  now  from  the  furthest  point  completed  Corona  could 
distinguish  in  the  dim  distance  the  great  square  palace  of 
Astrardente  crowning  the  hills  above  the  town.  Thither 
the  two  rode  daily,  pushing  on  the  work,  consulting  with 
the  engineer  they  employed,  and  often  looking  forward 
to  the  day  when  for  the  first  time  their  carriage  should  roll 
smoothly  down  from  Saracinesca  to  Astrardente  without 
making  the  vast  detour  which  the  old  road  followed  as  it 
skirted  the  mountain.  There  was  an  inexpressible  pleasure 
in  watching  the  growth  of  the  work  they  had  so  long  con 
templated,  in  speculating  on  the  advantages  they  would 
obtain  by  so  uniting  their  respective  villages,  and  in  feeling 
that,  being  at  last  one,  they  were  working  together  for  the 
good  of  their  people.  For  the  men  who  did  the  work  were 
without  exception  their  own  peasants,  who  were  unem 
ployed  during  the  winter  time,  and  who,  but  for  the  timely 
occupation  provided  for  them,  would  have  spent  the  cold 
months  in  that  state  of  half-starved  torpor  peculiar  to  the 
indigent  agricultural  labourer  when  he  has  nothing  to  do 
— at  that  bittter  season  when  father  and  mother  and 
shivering  little  ones  watch  wistfully  the  ever-dwindling 
sack  of  maize,  as  day  by  day  two  or  three  handfuls  are 
ground  between  the  stones  of  the  hand-mill  and  kneaded 
into  a  thick  unwholesome  dough,  the  only  food  of  the 
poorer  peasants  in  the  winter.  But  now  every  man  who 
could  handle  pickaxe  and  bore,  and  sledge-hammer  and 
spade,  was  out  upon  the  road  from  dawn  to  dark,  and 
every  Saturday  night  each  man  took  home  a  silver  scudo 
in  his  pocket;  and  where  people  are  sober  and  do  not 
drink  their  wages,  a  silver  scudo  goes  a  long  way  fur 
ther  than  nothing.  Yet  many  a  lean  and  swarthy  fel- 


SARACINESCA.  443 

low  there  would  have  felt  that  he  was  cheated  if  besides 
his  money  he  had  not  carried  home  daily  the  remembrance 
of  that  tall  dark  lady's  face  and  kindly  eyes  and  encour 
aging  voice,  and  they  used  to  watch  for  the  coming  of 
the  "  gran  principessa  "  as  anxiously  as  they  expected  the 
coming  of  the  steward  with  the  money-bags  on  a  Saturday 
evening.  Often,  too,  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the 
rough  workers  would  bring  the  men  their  dinners  at  noon 
day,  rather  than  let  them  carry  away  their  food  with  them 
in  the  morning,  just  for  the  sake  of  catching  a  sight  of  Cor 
ona,  and  of  her  broad-shouldered  manly  husband.  And  the 
men  worked  with  a  right  good  will,  for  the  story  had 
gone  abroad  that  for  years  to  come  there  would  be  no 
lack  of  work  for  willing  hands. 

So  the  days  sped,  and  were  not  interrupted  by  any  in 
cident  for  several  weeks.  One  day  Gouache,  the  artist 
Zouave,  called  at  the  castle.  He  had  been  quartered  at 
Subiaco  with  a  part  of  his  company,  but  had  not  been  sent 
on  at  once  to  Saracinesca  as  he  had  expected.  Now,  how 
ever,  he  had  arrived  with  a  small  detachment  of  half-a- 
dozen  men,  with  instructions  to  watch  the  pass.  There 
was  nothing  extraordinary  in  his  being  sent  in  that  direc 
tion,  for  Saracinesca  was  very  near  the  frontier,  and  lay 
on  one  of  the  direct  routes  to  the  Serra  di  Sant'  Antonio, 
which  was  the  shortest  hill-route  into  the  kingdom  of 
Naples ;  the  country  around  was  thought  to  be  particu 
larly  liable  to  disturbance,  and  though  no  one  had  seen  a 
brigand  there  for  some  years,  the  mountain-paths  were 
supposed  to  be  infested  with  robbers.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  there  was  a  great  deal  of  smuggling  carried  on 
through  the  pass,  and  from  time  to  time  some  political 
refugee  found  his  way  across  the  frontier  at  that  point. 

Gouache  was  received  very  well  by  Giovanni,  and  rather 
coldly  by  Corona,  who  knew  him  but  slightly. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Giovanni,  noticing  the  stripes 
on  the  young  man's  sleeves ;  "  I  see  that  you  have  risen  in 
grade.7' 

"Yes.     I  hold  an  important  command  of  six  men.     I 


444  SARACINESCA. 

spend  much  time  in  studying  the  strategy  of  Conde  and 
Napoleon.  By  the  bye,  I  am  here  on  a  very  important 
mission." 

"Indeed!" 

"I  suppose  you  give  yourselves  the  luxury  of  never  read 
ing  the  papers  in  this  delightful  retreat.  The  day  before 
yesterday  the  Cardinal  attempted  to  arrest  our  friend  Del 
Ferice — have  you  heard  that  ?  " 

"No — what — has  he  escaped?"  asked  Giovanni  and 
Corona  in  a  breath.  But  their  tones  were  different. 
Giovanni  had  anticipated  the  news,  and  was  disgusted  at 
the  idea  that  the  fellow  had  got  off.  Corona  was  merely 
surprised. 

"Yes.  Heaven  knows  how — he  has  escaped.  I  am 
here  to  cut  him  off  if  he  tries  to  get  to  the  Serra  di  Sant' 
Antonio." 

Giovanni  laughed. 

"  He  will  scarcely  try  to  come  this  way — under  the  very 
walls  of  my  house,"  he  said. 

"  He  may  do  anything.  He  is  a  slippery  fellow."  Gou 
ache  proceeded  to  tell  all  he  knew  of  the  circumstances. 

"  That  is  very  strange,"  said  Corona,  thoughtfully.  Then 
after  a  pause,  she  added,  "  We  are  going  to  visit  our  road, 
Monsieur  Gouache.  Will  you  not  come  with  us  ?  My 
husband  will  give  you  a  horse." 

Gouache  was  charmed.  He  preferred  talking  to  Gio 
vanni  and  looking  at  Corona's  face  to  returning  to  his  six 
Zouaves,  or  patrolling  the  hills  in  search  of  Del  Ferice.  In 
a  few  minutes  the  three  were  mounted,  and  riding  slowly 
along  the  level  stretch  towards  the  works.  As  they  entered 
the  new  road  Giovanni  and  Corona  unconsciously  fell  into 
conversation,  as  usual,  about  what  they  were  doing,  and  for 
got  their  visitor.  Gouache  dropped  behind,  watching  the 
pair  and  admiring  them  with  true  artistic  appreciation.  He 
had  a  Parisian's  love  of  luxury  and  perfect  appointments  as 
well  as  an  artist's  love  of  beauty,  and  his  eyes  rested  with 
unmitigated  pleasure  on  the  riders  and  their  horses,  losing 
no  detail  of  their  dress,  their  simple  English  accoutrements, 


SAKACINESCA.  445 

their  firm  seats  and  graceful  carriage.  But  at  a  turn  of  the 
grade  the  two  riders  suddenly  slipped  from  his  field  of 
vision,  and  his  attention  was  attracted  to  the  marvellous 
beauty  of  the  landscape,  as  looking  down  the  valley  towards 
Astrardente  he  saw  range  on  range  of  purple  hills  rising  in 
a  deep  perspective,  crowned  with  jagged  rocks  or  sharply 
defined  brown  villages,  ruddy  in  the  lowering  sun.  He 
stopped  his  horse  and  sat  motionless,  drinking  in  the  love 
liness  before  him.  So  it  is  that  accidents  in  nature  make 
accidents  in  the  lives  of  men. 

But  Giovanni  and  Corona  rode  slowly  down  the  gentle 
incline,  hardly  noticing  that  Gouache  had  stopped  be 
hind,  and  talking  of  the  work.  As  they  again  turned  a 
curve  of  the  grade  Corona,  who  was  on  the  inside,  looked 
up  and  caught  sight  of  Gouache's  motionless  figure  at 
the  opposite  extremity  of  the  gradient  they  had  just  de 
scended.  Giovanni  looked  straight  before  him,  and  was 
aware  of  a  pale-faced  Capuchin  friar  who  with  downcast 
eyes  was  toiling  up  the  road,  seemingly  exhausted ;  a 
particularly  weather-stained  and  dilapidated  friar  even 
for  those  wild  mountains. 

"  Gouache  is  studying  geography,"  remarked  Corona. 

"  Another  of  those  Capuccini ! "  exclaimed  Giovanni, 
instinctively  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  coppers.  Then 
with  a  sudden  movement  he  seized  his  wife's  arm.  She 
was  close  to  him  as  they  rode  slowly  along  side  by  side. 

"Good  God!  Corona,"  he  cried,  "it  is  Del  Ferice!" 
Corona  looked  quickly  at  the  monk.  His  cowl  was  raised 
enough  to  show  his  features;  but  she  would,  perhaps, 
not  have  recognised  his  smooth  shaven  face  had  Gio 
vanni  not  called  her  attention  to  it. 

Del  Ferice  had  recognised  them  too,  and,  horror-struck, 
he  paused,  trembling  and  uncertain  what  to  do.  He  had 
taken  the  wrong  turn  from  the  main  road  below ;  unac 
customed  to  the  dialect  of  the  hills,  he  had  misunder 
stood  the  peasant  who  had  told  him  especially  not  to 
take  the  bridle-path  if  he  wished  to  avoid  Saracinesca. 
He  stopped,  hesitated,  and  then,  pulling  his  cowl  over 


446  SARACINESCA. 

his  face,  walked  steadily  on.  Giovanni  glanced  up  and 
saw  that  Gouache  was  slowly  descending  the  road,  still 
absorbed  in  contemplating  the  landscape. 

"Let  him  take  his  chance,"  muttered  Saracinesca. 
"What  should  I  care?" 

"  No — no  !  Save  him,  Giovanni, — he  looks  so  miser 
able,"  cried  Corona,  with  ready  sympathy.  She  was  pale 
with  excitement. 

Giovanni  looked  at  her  one  moment  and  hesitated,  but 
her  pleading  eyes  were  not  to  be  refused. 

"  Then  gallop  back,  darling.  Tell  Gouache  it  is  cold 
in  the  valley — anything.  Make  him  go  back  with  you 
— I  will  save  him  since  you  wish  it." 

Corona  wheeled  her  horse  without  a  word  and  cantered 
up  the  hill  again.  The  monk  had  continued  his  slow 
walk,  and  was  now  almost  at  Giovanni's  saddle-bow. 
The  latter  drew  rein,  staring  hard  at  the  pale  features 
under  the  cowl. 

"  If  you  go  on  you  are  lost,"  he  said,  in  low  distinct 
tones.  "  The  Zouaves  are  waiting  for  you.  Stop,  I  say  ! " 
he  exclaimed,  as  the  monk  attempted  to  pass  on.  Leap 
ing  to  the  ground  Giovanni  seized  his  arm  and  held  him 
tightly.  Then  Del  Ferice  broke  down. 

"  You  will  not  give  me  up — for  the  love  of  Christ ! " 
he  whined.  "  Oh,  if  you  have  any  pity — let  me  go — I 
never  meant  to  harm  you " 

"Look  here,"  said  Giovanni.  "I  would  just  as  soon 
give  you  up  to  the  Holy  Office  as  not ;  but  my  wife  asked 
me  to  save  you " 

"  God  bless  her !  Oh,  the  saints  bless  her !  God 
render  her  kindness  ! "  blubbered  Del  Ferice,  who,  between 
fear  and  exhaustion,  was  by  this  time  half  idiotic. 

"  Silence  ! "  said  Giovanni,  sternly.  "  You  may  thank 
her  if  you  ever  have  a  chance.  Come  with  me  quietly. 
I  will  send  one  of  the  workmen  round  the  hill  with  you. 
You  must  sleep  at  Trevi,  and  then  get  over  the  Serra  as 
best  you  can."  He  ran  his  arm  through  the  bridle  of  his 
horse  and  walked  by  his  enemy's  side. 


SARACINESCA.  447 

"  You  will  not  give  me  up,"  moaned  the  wretched  man. 
"  For  the  love  of  heaven  do  not  betray  me — I  have  come 
so  far — I  am  so  tired." 

"  The  wolves  may  make  a  meal  of  you,  for  all  I  care," 
returned  Giovanni.  "  I  will  not.  I  give  you  my  word 
that  I  will  send  you  safely  on,  if  you  will  stop  this  whin 
ing  and  behave  like  a  man." 

At  that  moment  Del  Ferice  was  past  taking  offence, 
but  for  many  a  year  afterwards  the  rough  words  rankled 
in  his  heart.  Giovanni  was  brutal  for  once ;  he  longed 
to  wring  the  fellow's  neck,  or  to  give  him  up  to  Gouache 
and  the  Zouaves.  The  tones  of  Ugo's  voice  reminded 
him  of  injuries  not  so  old  as  to  be  yet  forgotten.  But 
he  smothered  his  wrath  and  strode  on,  having  promised 
his  wife  to  save  the  wretch,  much  against  his  will.  It 
was  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  they  reached  the  works, 
the  longest  quarter  of  an  hour  Del  Ferice  remembered  in 
his  whole  life.  Neither  spoke  a  word.  Giovanni  hailed 
a  sturdy-looking  fellow  who  was  breaking  stones  by  the 
roadside. 

"  Get  up,  Carluccio,"  he  said.  "  This  good  monk  has 
lost  his  way.  You  must  take  him  round  the  mountain, 
above  Ponza  to  Arcinazzo,  and  show  him  the  road  to 
Trevi.  It  is  a  long  way,  but  the  road  is  good  enough 
after  Ponza — it  is  shorter  than  to  go  round  by  Saracin- 
esca,  and  the  good  friar  is  in  a  hurry." 

Carluccio  started  up  with  alacrity.  He  greatly  pre 
ferred  roaming  about  the  hills  to  breaking  stones,  pro 
vided  he  was  paid  for  it.  He  picked  up  his  torn  jacket 
and  threw  it  over  one  shoulder,  setting  his  battered  hat 
jauntily  on  his  thick  black  curls. 

"  Give  us  a  benediction,  padre  mio,  and  let  us  be  off — 
non  &  mica  un  passo — it  is  a  good  walk  to  Trevi." 

Del  Ferice  hesitated.  He  hardly  knew  what  to  do  or 
say,  and  even  if  he  had  wished  to  speak  he  was  scarcely 
able  to  control  his  voice.  Giovanni  cut  the  situation 
short  by  turning  on  his  heel  and  mounting  his  horse.  A 
moment  later  he  was  cantering  up  the  road  again,  to  the 


448  SABACINESCA. 

considerable  astonishment  of  the  labourers,  who  were  ac 
customed  to  see  him  spend  at  least  half  an  hour  in  exam 
ining  the  work  done.  But  G-iovamii  was  in  no  humour 
to  talk  about  roads.  He  had  spent  a  horrible  quarter  of 
an  hour,  between  his  desire  to  see  Del  Ferice  punished 
and  the  promise  he  had  given  his  wife  to  save  him.  He 
felt  so  little  sure  of  himself  that  he  never  once  looked 
back,  lest  he  should  be  tempted  to  send  a  second  man  to 
stop  the  fugitive  and  deliver  him  up  to  justice.  He 
ground  his  teeth  together,  and  his  heart  was  full  of  bit 
ter  curses  as  he  rode  up  the  hill,  hardly  daring  to  reflect 
upon  what  he  had  done.  That,  in  the  eyes  of  the  law, 
he  had  wittingly  helped  a  traitor  to  escape,  troubled  his 
conscience  little.  His  instinct  bade  him  destroy  Del 
Ferice  by  giving  him  up,  and  he  would  have  saved  him 
self  a  vast  deal  of  trouble  if  he  had  followed  his  impulse. 
But  the  impulse  really  arose  from  a  deep-rooted  desire 
for  revenge,  which,  having  resisted,  he  regretted  bitterly 
— very  much  as  Shakespeare's  murderer  complained  to 
his  companion  that  the  devil  was  at  his  elbow  bidding 
him  not  murder  the  duke.  Giovanni  spared  his  enemy 
solely  to  please  his  wife,  and  half-a-dozen  words  from 
her  had  produced  a  result  which  no  consideration  of 
mercy  or  pity  could  have  brought  about. 

Corona  and  Gouache  had  halted  at  the  top  of  the  road 
to  wait  for  him.  By  an  inperceptible  nod,  Giovanni  in 
formed  his  wife  that  Del  Ferice  was  safe. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  cut  short  our  ride,"  he  said,  coldly. 
"  My  wife  found  it  chilly  in  the  valley." 

Anastase  looked  curiously  at  Giovanni's  pale  face,  and 
wondered  whether  anything  was  wrong.  Corona  herself 
seemed  strangely  agitated. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gouache,  with  his  gentle  smile ;  "  the 
mountain  air  is  still  cold." 

So  the  three  rode  silently  back  to  the  castle,  and  at  the 
gate  Gouache  dismounted  and  left  them,  politely  declinx 
ing  a  rather  cold  invitation  to  come  in.  Giovanni  and 
Corona  went  silently  up  the  staircase  together,  and  on 


SARACINESCA.  449 

into  a  small  apartment  which  in  that  cold  season  they 
had  set  apart  as  a  sitting-room.  When  they  were  alone, 
Corona  laid  her  hands  upon  Giovanni's  shoulders  and 
gazed  long  into  his  angry  eyes.  Then  she  threw  her 
arms  round  his  neck  and  drew  him  to  her. 

"My  beloved,"  she  cried,  proudly,  "you  are  all  I 
thought — and  more  too." 

"  Do  not  say  that,"  answered  Giovanni.  "  I  would  not 
have  lifted  a  finger  to  save  that  hound,  but  for  you." 

"  Ah,  but  you  did  it,  dear,  all  the  same,"  she  said,  and 
kissed  him. 

On  the  following  evening,  without  any  warning,  old 
Saracinesca  arrived,  and  was  warmly  greeted.  After 
dinner  Giovanni  told  him  the  story  of  Del  Ferice's  escape. 
Thereupon  the  old  gentleman  flew  into  a  towering  rage, 
swearing  and  cursing  in  a  most  characteristic  manner,  but 
finally  declaring  that  to  arrest  spies  was  the  work  of  spies, 
and  that  Giovanni  had  behaved  like  a  gentleman,  as  of 
course  he  could  not  help  doing,  seeing  that  he  was  his 
own  son. 

And  so  the  curtain  falls  upon  the  first  act.  Giovanni 
and  Corona  are  happily  married.  Del  Ferice  is  safe  across 
the  frontier  among  his  friends  in  Naples,  and  Donna 
Tullia  is  waiting  still  for  news  of  him,  in  the  last  days  of 
Lent,  in  the  year  1866.  To  carry  on  the  tale  from  this 
point  would  be  to  enter  upon  a  new  series  of  events  more 
interesting,  perhaps,  than  those  herein  detailed,  and  of 
like  importance  in  the  history  of  the  Saracinesca  family, 
but  forming  by  their  very  nature  a  distinct  narrative — a 
second  act  to  the  drama,  if  it  may  be  so  called.  I  am 
content  if  in  the  foregoing  pages  I  have  so  far  acquainted 
the  reader  with  those  characters  which  hereafter  will  play 
more  important  parts,  as  to  enable  him  to  comprehend  the 
story  of  their  subsequent  lives,  and  in  some  measure  to 
judge  of  their  future  by  their  past,  regarding  them  as 
acquaintances,  if  not  sympathetic,  yet  worthy  of  some 
attention. 


450  SAKACINESCA. 

Especially  I  ask  for  indulgence  in  matters  political.  I 
am  not  writing  the  history  of  political  events,  but  the 
history  of  a  Roman  family  during  times  of  great  uncer 
tainty  and  agitation.  If  any  one  says  that  I  have  set 
up  Del  Ferice  as  a  type  of  the  Italian  Liberal  party,  care 
fully  constructing  a  villain  in  order  to  batter  him  to  pieces 
with  the  artillery  of  poetic  justice,  I  answer  that  I  have 
done  nothing  of  the  kind.  Del  Ferice  is  indeed  a  type, 
but  a  type  of  a  depraved  class  which  very  unjustly  repre 
sented  the  Liberal  party  in  Borne  before  1870,  and  which, 
among  those  who  witnessed  its  proceedings,  drew  upon 
the  great  political  body  which  demanded  the  unity  of 
Italy  an  opprobrium  that  body  was  very  far  from  deserv 
ing.  The  honest  and  upright  Liberals  were  waiting  in 
1866.  What  they  did,  they  did  from  their  own  country, 
and  they  did  it  boldly.  To  no  man  of  intelligence  need 
I  say  that  Del  Ferice  had  no  more  affinity  with  Massimo 
D'Azeglio,  with  the  great  Cavour,  with  Cavour's  great 
enemy  Giuseppe  Mazzini,  or  with  Garibaldi,  than  the 
jackal  has  with  the  lion.  Del  Ferice  represented  the 
scum  which  remained  after  the  revolution  of  1848  had 
subsided.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  were  used  and 
despised  by  their  betters,  and  in  using  whom  Cavour  him 
self  was  provoked  into  writing  "  Se  noi  f acessimo  per  noi 
quel  che  faciamo  per  1' It  alia,  saremmo  gran  bricconi " — 
if  we  did  for  ourselves  what  we  do  for  Italy,  we  should 
be  great  blackguards.  And  that  there  were  honourable 
and  just  men  outside  of  Rome  will  sufficiently  appear  in 
the  sequel  to  this  veracious  tale. 


THE    END. 


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RECALL 


LIBRARY,  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  DAVIS 

Book  Slip-35m-7,'62(D296s4)458 


2523U7 


Crawford,  F.M. 
Complete  works. 


Call  Number: 


E82 
v.10 


TSI450 
6*8  a. 


v.  10 


252347 


